The Shadow of Death
by Aithne
Summary: The grief that Legolas encounters after Helm's Deep awakens a secret of his past that could destroy him....and quite possibly kill his friends. (AU)
1. Silhouettes

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Lord of the Rings, I wouldn't be writing a _fanfic about it. Sorry to disappoint. _

**A/N: **Hello, _Mellonin__.This is my first fanfic, so I hope you enjoy! I must admit, this is a movie-verse story…I have not yet completed The Two Towers (*hides face in shame*). But I hope you like this fanfic…..reviews are most welcome (of course), and constructive criticism is definitely requested! Enjoy!_

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**The Shadow of Death**

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_Silhouettes_

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The wind was cold. Very cold. Yet being an elf, he had never taken heed of it for he could not feel it. His Elven traits had protected him from the chilling kiss of winter all of his life, but there was no avoiding it now. The air was so bitter with the bite of ice that it hurt his lungs when he inhaled. It made his eyes sting, his hands grow numb, and his body convulse in a fit of shivers. And as the arctic winds swirled around him, so did his emotions, those randomly placed sensations, that invaded his mind like an advancing army. They blinded him to reason, made his body weak, filled his heart with pain.

_The pain._

Legolas stood atop of the so-called Impenetrable Wall at Helm's Deep, looking up in to the overcast sky. The clouds were dark and flat, a sea of monochromatic solidness that gave him a feeling of complete and utter hopelessness. The clouds drifted slowly, carried on the back of the wind. There was neither a ray of sunshine nor a touch of warmth to be seen nor felt. 

And this did not help lift his heavy heart.

Legolas was not used to failure. He was not used to death. He was not used to cold. Yet in the past forty-eight hours, he had witnessed and been effected by all.  

_The pain.___

He had always prided himself in his ability to be clear-minded. Throughout his childhood, his tutors had praised him for being so focused. When he joined the Mirkwood Guard, he had been promoted twice in his first month of service due to his outstanding alertness and avoidance of distraction. Since the forming of the Fellowship, had always been able to sort out his feelings, analyze them, and tuck them into the back of his mind in order to avoid anything that would divert his attention from the task at hand.

But to Legolas's dismay, a realization hit him, cutting through his mind like an icy spear: the focus was gone. His intricately entwined emotions forbade it from existing. 

As he pulled his now tattered and ripped green cloak from Lothlorien around him in hopes of shielding himself from the frosty air that churned and engulfed his body, scenes from the battle began to flash before his eyes. He saw thousands upon thousands of their enemies, forming what looked like a sea of armor . . . he saw Haldir, his friend of old, hand him a shield to protect himself from a charging band of Uruk-Hai . . . he heard the screams of Elves and Men alike as they were slaughtered mercilessly by the Dark Warriors . . . he felt an enemy's blade strike hard against his chest, creating an oozing gash from his right waist to his left chest . . . he saw elf after elf fall in battle . . . he saw Aragorn holding Haldir in his arms . . . 

_The pain._

He shook his head in hopes of eliminating those raw and throbbing memories from his mind. He closed his eyes, praying to the Valar to eradicate the pain swallowing his soul. He hoped that by shutting his eyes, he could shut out the unkind world. But to his consternation, all he saw was that lone Uruk-Hai warrior, running forth with a blazing torch in his hand . . . he heard Aragorn scream at him to take the warrior down. Legolas envisioned his soaring arrows, striking the beast, all of to no avail.

The Wall fell. 

Yet the Wall fell not alone. Elven archers and courageous Men fell with it. They fell to the brown earth, still screaming, still fighting, still writhing in shock and pain, their bodies contorted in grotesque figurations as they hit the ground. It was estimated by Theoden that perhaps two hundred Elves and Men had perished when the Wall was defeated.

And it was all Legolas's fault.

_Always aim for the neck when using the bow, Legolas,_ he could hear his father instruct him many years ago. _That is where the armor of our enemies is weak and penetrable. However Legolas, in his haste, had not fired at the neck, but shot the warrior in the chest and shoulder. His recklessness, impatience, and unsteady hand had cost two hundred living beings their lives._

And he could never forgive himself for it.

_The pain.___

A slight sound shook Legolas from his thoughts. He knew who the person was just by the pattern of their light footsteps. This was the man whom Legolas felt most at home with. He was his friend of old, a companion…a brother. He had been through good times and bad with him, had celebrated and mourned with him, had played and fought with him. He loved this man as a brother and would do anything for him. But as of right now Legolas would give anything so he could be alone with his shame and his remorse.

"_Melonin_," Aragorn spoke, stopping a meter away from Legolas. Still, Legolas did not turn. "You are troubled." This was not a question, but a statement. Aragorn need not ask him why he was standing in the cold, alone and guilt-ridden, for he was wise to Legolas's feelings. He had noticed an alarming change in his friend directly after the battle, when he had informed Legolas of Haldir's death. The elf's face had knotted with pain, fury, and sadness, his blue eyes small and mournful, his posture slightly abashed. But when he had heard that four hundred and fifty Elven lives had been taken from this earth, his handsome face lost all color, all emotion, all…_life. _He simply turned without a word and walked out to the top of the Wall and had been there ever since.

_The pain.___

"Legolas," Aragorn stated, his eyes narrowed in confusion. Why was Legolas acting like this?

"I need to be alone." The reply was short, barely above a fading murmur. 

"_Mellonin_, you are bleeding."

And to his surprise, Legolas looked down and saw that the gash he had received was still oozing crimson blood. There was dried redness surrounding the wound that had smeared all over his green cloak and his white sheath. It was odd that he had not noticed the pain. However, the pain of loss was far greater than that of a gash.

_The pain.___

"Legolas, you need that to be Healed," Aragorn insisted, resting a hand on Legolas's shoulder. His hand was warm, but despite the comfort it radiated Legolas flinched at the friendly gesture. His body tensed and he recoiled ever so slightly. He did not want the ranger's comfort or his sympathy. He wanted to be alone.

"Nay, I need not be Healed." The answer was simple, emotionless, weary.

"Legolas, you're bleeding," Aragorn repeated, if not louder this time. Concern was evident in his voice, yet Legolas felt nothing but annoyance.

"Let it bleed." His voice was firm, his tone was flat, and his jaw was clenched. He shrugged off Aragorn's hand completely and continued to stand there, arms at his side, a stoic and unkind look on his once friendly and kind face.

Aragorn narrowed his eyes. With each passing statement, he felt his heart grow heavy with concern for his friend. He had known him for half of his life, but had never known him to act like this. It was upsettingly dangerous that an elf would refuse Healing; it was unnatural and undeniably unnerving. "Legolas, you must stop the blood—"

"Have you heard naught what I said? Let it bleed!" screamed Legolas, whirling around. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, narrowed and unblinking. His fists were clenched at his side, his breathing was labored. He looked possessed and full of a fury that was frightening. Aragorn stood in shock: he had never seen his friend like this. Ever. 

_The pain.___

Before Aragorn could utter a word, Legolas turned away from him and walked with a decidedly quickened pace towards the chamber hallway.

~*~

I hope you enjoyed. 


	2. Dusk Approaches

**Disclaimer: **Do I wish I owned Lord of the Rings? Yes. Do I _actually_ own Lord of the Rings? (*sigh*). Nope.

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**The Shadow of Death**

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_Dusk Approaches_

"I believe it was somewhere around three hundred and thirty-two." 

Gimli's loud and rich voice filled the makeshift dining hall, echoing off of the warmed stone walls. The vast fire burned brightly in the middle of the great chamber, offering comfort and light to anyone who desired it. 

"That many, Master Gimli? I must say, I am very impressed!" laughed Eowyn, who sat across from the Dwarf. Stored grains, breads and salted meats had been brought forth from the storage chamber. Gimli sat contentedly with a plate piled high with all three. He was drinking wine brought from the town as well, and he was consuming it in great multitudes.

"Of course that many. The problem with many folk is that they underestimate the power of a Dwarf. We might seem small and stubby, but we are a murdering and vicious bunch when we are armed, believe me," boasted Gimli, taking another swig of wine along with another mouthful of meat. "I bet you my axe I've killed more Uruk-Hai than old Master Elf!"

"Do you think so?" inquired Eowyn, smiling. It was obvious to her that Gimli was very fond of Legolas. Yet Dwarves are not ones to show their emotions, and his faux nonchalant attitude towards Legolas amused her greatly.

"I most certainly do, my Lady. Ahh, and here comes Aragorn now. He will certainly verify my numbers with you. Aragorn!" called Gimli. The ranger stopped in his long strides and turned in their direction. Eowyn immediately noticed the concern and confusion he donned upon his face. 

Yet the wine had blinded Gimli's eyes to this, and he shouted once more. "Aragorn! Come here and share with this fine Lady just how I killed more Uruk-Hai in this battle than Legolas has ever done in his long, immortal life." 

Trying to conceal his emotions, he offered a weak smile. "Perhaps at another time, Master Gimli. My Lady," he bowed to Eowyn, who felt her heart flutter. But concern for Aragorn was the more prominent thought in her mind. The emotions he wore on his face had startled her, the unsteady weight his voice held had caught her unsuspecting attention.

But as Gimli started to tell her about his axe, her thoughts were taken away from Aragorn.

~*~

Gandalf sat in a small chamber, alone, on a huge stone brick. The mood to celebrate he had naught. He was hungry but could not eat. He was tired but could not sleep. All he could do was sit and think until his mind became one jumbling mass of confusion and nostalgia. He thought about Bilbo, about Frodo, about Samwise. He was reminded of the days of yore, when his biggest concern was worry about when his pipe was out of smoke. Things were so simple then, so predictable, so peaceful…

Those times were gone. And Gandalf feared they were never to return.

"Gandalf, may I have a word?" Aragorn stood in the entrance to the chamber. Gandalf smiled as he noticed his stature; Aragorn had not been off of his feet in perhaps two full days, yet he looked as strong and determined as ever.__

"Come in, Estel. I would offer you a seat, yet I seem to be occupying the only one," he mused. Expecting to see a smile on Aragorn's face, Gandalf was perplexed as to why that smile was absent. In fact, Aragorn wore an anxious look. "What is bothering you?" 

Aragorn shifted uneasily and cleared his throat. He seemed not to know where to begin. His eyes rested upon the stone floor, obviously watching the shadows of the flickering red flames dancing forth from the fire. "I am worried, Mithrandir."

"That I can see. But what you are worried about is what I am blinded to."

Aragorn shifted again. Gandalf detected his apprehensiveness immediately. "Legolas is acting…strangely," he concluded, his eyes still concentrating on the shadows. Gandalf waited for Aragorn to elaborate.

"He has been standing out on the Wall for two days. He will not eat and he will not sleep. He refuses to let me or an Elven Healer sent to us from Lothlorien tend to his wounds," Aragorn said. His voice was soft, his brows knotted together. 

"And you find this strange?" Gandalf asked.

Aragorn paused. He seemed to be thinking. "Yes. I have lived with elves for as far back as I can remember. I know it is hard for them to deal with loss, for it is a pain they are not accustomed to. But Healing has always been important to them." Aragorn paused again, looking at Gandalf, who only stared back, waiting for him to continue. 

"When my mother died . . ." Aragorn's words trailed off. He realized he had never talked about his mother to anyone before. He immediately grew self-conscious, and felt an eerie claustrophobia enter his stomach. But he remembered his concern for Legolas. 

"When my mother died the elves of Rivendell sang about her for exactly one month, every day. They wrote poems about her, drew pictures of her, and often would talk about her. This was the Healing process for them."

He stopped again, wondering how much Gandalf knew of the Healing customs of Elves. He assumed Mithrandir knew a great deal, but decided to explain it anyway. He needed to explain why he felt such a bitter alarm for Legolas's safety. What he could not explain, however, was the paranoia encompassing his mind. __

 "The Healing process is an important tradition for elves. They feel that in order for their souls to be pure and good, they must have their mourning period. However, they must continue on with their lives. If they linger on the death of a loved one, their souls will be tainted with confusion, anger and sadness."

_"Nay, I need not be Healed."_

There was something wrong with Legolas. Very wrong.

 "Legolas is not interested in Healing. He has outright _refused it, Gandalf, from me and from the Healers. It's not like him…it's not like an elf."_

Aragorn looked up from the floor at Gandalf. He sat there, his arms folded, his face grave with reflection. They both remained there, in silence, for many minutes. With each passing second, Aragorn felt himself grow more and more concerned for his friend. The more he thought about it, the odder Legolas's behavior became. Worry pulsated through his veins, traveling through his body, always coming back to his heart, making it momentous with disquiet.

Finally, Gandalf shifted on his stone block and stood up. "Where is he?" he asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

Startled and somewhat upset, Aragorn realized that he did not know to where Legolas had gone. "I know not. He hastened off towards the chamber hallway."

"I shall tend to him," stated Gandalf. But Aragorn was alarmed at the worry clouding the Wizard's eyes. He started towards the exit when Aragorn spoke.

"Mithrandir, do you look distressed, or am I incorrect?"

Gandalf was impressed at the Ranger's perceptiveness. He turned as he spoke. "Legolas is an elf of which you know naught, Estel. You may have known him for most of your life, yet there are things in his past that you are unaware of. I only hope that these Shadows of Death that haunt him will soon be lifted." 

Gandalf then strode out of the chamber, leaving Aragorn to a motley mixture of memories and emotions.

~*~

Thanks to all of my reviewers. You guys are the best.


	3. Darkness Falls

**Disclaimer: **I own…..uh oh….can't say. You'll know who I own by the end of the chappy!

** A/N: **Yay! I finally own someone….but I can't say who yet. Why? Guess you'll just have to read to the end of the chapter.

**The Shadow of Death**

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_Darkness__Falls___

Haldir's face was bone-chillingly void of heat. The very rush of life that occupies an elf's body seemed to have been drained from him. His skin was turning bluish, and his wounds would bleed no more. The 4,018 year old elf of Lothlorien was in the Halls of Mandos. 

As were four hundred and fifty of his followers.

_Then why am I still alive? Elbereth has given me the gift of life. Why then do my friend and fellow elves receive the bequest of death?_

It was a question Legolas could not answer, for he had not the heart. He had recited the correct prayers for all four hundred and fifty of his brethren. The prayers became one monotonous drone, an everlasting echo in the small chamber. He recited it emotionlessly, hoping that by doing so he could drown out the guilt and haplessness ringing in his ears.

As he delivered the prayers for all of the dead, he felt a surge of unabated compassion for his brethren. They were strangers from Lothlorien who had given their lives to the Fellowship's cause freely. They had no direct connection to the trial at hand, had everything to lose and nothing to gain. And they had lost it all. It had made Legolas wonder whether he would have done the same.

He saved his friend and companion for last, for he knew if he were to bless him first, he would be of too saddened soul to continue on. He had said the traditional prayers for the dead over Haldir. But now it was Legolas's time for his own.

"_Melonin_," he began. Yet he could not finish. Grief had flowed into his heart, anger had permeated his veins. He felt his heart quicken, his breathing grow louder. Haldir was dead. 

He was dead, never to return.

 He longed for closure, but only after he had revenge. His lost and mourning soul lusted after the glorious prospect of murdering those who had slaughtered his people. Revenge sparkled like the Diamond in the Rough, an untouchable glory that he longed to possess. He longed to _avenge_ Haldir. 

And avenge him he would.

"Legolas." 

He jumped at the voice he heard coming from the entrance behind him. He slowly turned, and saw Gandalf. He stood patiently, his arms gently folded, his eyes kind yet unemotional.

Once again, Legolas yearned to be alone. He wanted more time to himself, to plan his revenge, to share his last words with Haldir privately. But now Mithrandir was here, and he felt annoyance and anger rise up in him. He nodded his head towards Gandalf, then turned back to face Haldir. Yet it did not seem that his uninvited guest had gotten the point, for he still stood rooted to the spot. Gandalf's patience with him was unnerving.

"Mithrandir, I wish to be alone."

"Alone? It is one thing you cannot be, _mellonin. In a time of deep loss such as this, you cannot be alone."_

Legolas shook his head, yet still kept his back to the Wizard. "I know naught of what you speak."

He heard Mithrandir sigh. To Legolas, it was a sigh dripping of annoyance and impatience. He felt the blood in his veins boil, and his jaw clench.

"If I am annoying you, by all means, Gandalf the White, you are free to leave me. Do not let me keep you from your important tasks." His voice was purposefully dripping in sarcasm and contempt.

"You misinterpret me, Legolas." 

"Do I?"

"Most certainly." 

Legolas realized Gandalf was joining him in the chamber for good, and ignoring him wouldn't make him leave. Thus, he turned away from Haldir's lifeless body to face the Wizard. 

"Then please. Explain to me why I cannot be alone." When Gandalf just stood there, looking hard at the prince, Legolas was innately reminded of Galadriel's gaze. He grew suddenly paranoid, and felt extremely exposed and transparent. Yet despite himself, Legolas snarled, "If you will not speak, then I asked to be left in peace."

The Wizard narrowed his eyes at Legolas's condescending tone. "Legolas, do not belittle me. I ask not for your anger, but for your memory. You know of what I speak. You know you can never be alone." 

Legolas simply stood there dumbfounded. He knew not of what the Wizard spoke of. His anger had still not subdued, and the once enduring elf began to grow irritated. 

Gandalf sensed this. "I speak of Emradril, Legolas."

Legolas's eyes widened in surprise at the mention of this name. "How do you know of  . . . .Emradril?"

"I know more than you think."

"But how do you know of this? Nobody from Mirkwood has ever told anyone of Emradril."

"But your father has."

"Who has he told?"

"Why, me, of course." 

Of course. How else could Gandalf have known? Legolas squirmed uncomfortably under Gandalf's intense gaze. He was not used to thinking of Emradril, much less speaking of him. His father had forbidden it. If his name had been uttered in Mirkwood, the punishment of the offender would have been severe.      

Gandalf continued. "Tell me what you know of Emradril."

Legolas's anger had faintly subdued, his puzzlement arisen. "I do not understand. You said you know of Emradril." 

"That I did. But I want to know how much _you know of him."_

Legolas cleared his throat. His discomfiture was painstakingly obvious. "I know that he was a high-ranking elf in the Mirkwood Guard. I was told that I knew him personally, but I was very young at the time, so I remember naught of him."

It was then that he realized how little he knew of Emradril. But he continued nonetheless.

"He somehow became an orc. He gave away my father's defense secrets to the orc army, which had been trying to annex Mirkwood from the elves for many years. The orcs attacked Mirkwood at dawn and slaughtered more than a thousand innocents. This invasion by the orcs started the seven-year war, in which many of my people died." 

Gandalf nodded, his unblinking gaze penetrating Legolas's soul. But he said nothing as if he were waiting for more information of which Legolas did not own. Finally, after Legolas's silence, Gandalf inquired, "And you know nothing else of Emradril?"

Involuntarily, he blinked at the mentioning of the name. But Legolas shook his head while searching his mind for any tidbits or rumors or stories he had heard of the Shadow Traitor. "I know naught else."

"Emradril's mother was mercilessly tortured and slaughtered by the orcs." He stated it calmly, almost matter-of-factly.

Legolas was in shock. "I heard nothing of this."

"No, I expected that you wouldn't have."

"My mother was killed by orcs," Legolas stated in a barely audible whisper.

Gandalf nodded. "Yes she was. And you know the pain one goes through when a family member is taken from you. Especially as an elf, where loss is so rare among your people."

"Somewhat. I was very young when this happened. I remember missing her, but I did not fully understand death. I still don't . . ." Legolas's words trailed off, and Gandalf continued.

"Yet you remember it, because it changed your life forever. However, Emradril was not young, so he was even more affected than you were. The elves offered him Healing, but he refused it. He refused to sing of her. He refused to speak of her. He refused to think of her. He only thought of how to _retaliate_ for her. His pain and his anger ate away at him. He became restless, violent. He detached himself from his family and friends. He would wander in the woods at night, hunting orc, hoping to only wound one so he could torture it. Emradril's vengeance turned into a mission, which in turn became an obsession. He would not eat, he would not sleep. He fell into what the elves call the Shadow of Death. It consumes us all when we lose someone dear to us. But it is up to us to lift that shadow in order to see the sun through the clouds."

Legolas stood there, frozen. It was obvious as to the reason Gandalf was telling him this. After a pregnant pause he said, "Aragorn has been to see you, hasn't he?"

Gandalf allowed himself a half-smile. "That he has, _mellonin__."_

"And you are explaining to me the story of Emradril's vengeance in attempts to persuade me to accept Healing."

Gandalf nodded, his expression once again grave. "Emradril has not been the only one to fall victim to the Shadow of Death. There have been others. It has been rumored that the Shadow of Death haunts its victim's family. It is harder for them to accept Healing, it is harder for them to accept loss."

Legolas's eyes narrowed. "It is hard for me to accept Healing and loss as well."

Gandalf stared at the elf and raised an eyebrow. He seemed to be choosing his words cautiously. "Yes, it is." 

A tense silence filled the air, and Legolas got the distinct impression that it was tangible. As soon as the stillness seemed unbearable, Gandalf shattered it.

"You are haunted by the Shadow of Death."

Legolas could not help but to laugh out loud in relief. "Gandalf, _mellonin, I cannot be. You said yourself that the Shadow of Death only haunts its victim's family. None of my family has been felled by Emradril's Curse."_

Yet the affirmation Legolas was searching for did not come. Gandalf lowered his eyes to the floor. His shoulders seemed to slump slightly, his eyes seemed to lose some of their brightness. Legolas felt as though a knife had been plunged into his already aching heart.

"Who?" Legolas demanded, however cautious, his heart racing, his blood pulsating and echoing in his ears. 

Gandalf raised his eyes to the elf's. They were full of concern and angst. "Your brother."

Legolas nearly laughed again. "Nay, Gandalf, you have grown forgetful. I have no brother," replied Legolas in a reassured manner. 

"You did." Gandalf's voice was so grave Legolas felt despair rise in his throat.

"No...my father would have told me."

"Your father wanted to protect you. Why should he have brought you any unnecessary pain?" Gandalf asked calmly.

Legolas stared at Gandalf for what seemed like eternity. His mind went blank, his eyes went wide, his mouth went dumb. He felt as though he were in a nightmare, a nightmare of which he could not awake. Thoughts and emotions pushed their way out of the depths of his mind into his mainstream of thought. But in the back of his mind as well as in the front of his heart, Legolas knew Gandalf spoke the truth.

"What happened to my brother?" Legolas breathed, as if he were afraid.

"You already know."

"Gandalf, do not play games with me." His impatience began to rise in his stomach, creating a nausea that made Legolas want to retch.

Gandalf sighed. He looked suddenly so old, so worn out. His skin became suddenly pale, his eyes became a sharp contrasted blue, his breathing now shallow. He slowly walked toward Legolas with heavy footsteps. He reached out and put two hands on both of Legolas's shoulders. They were warm. Yet he said nothing.

"Gandalf, tell me. Tell me!" Legolas pleaded. He felt so strange, so ethereal…

_Dizziness.___

_Nausea.___

_Concern.___

_Confusion.___

_Denial…_

Gandalf took one last sigh. "_Mellonin_, Emradril was your brother."

~*~


	4. Shadows in the Darkness

**Disclaimer: **

To Emradiril: 

"Do I own Lord of the Rings?"

"No, but you definitely own me!"

"Yeah, great shakes. I prefer _non-orc_-like creatures, thanks very much."

*Emradril walks off mumbling about how everyone likes his brother better.*

**A/N: **Yay! I own someone….feel free to take him from me. Sure, he might kick and scream at first, but he's easily subdued. Just make sure to ask! ;-)

**The Shadow of Death**

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_Shadows in the Darkness_

Every muscle in her body ached, her head was pounding, her eyelids felt as if they weighed as much as a mountain. Yet she could not sleep. She lay awake on the stone floor that was growing ever colder, staring at the ceiling, listening to the random creaking of the old fort. She had one blanket covering her, but that was not enough against the fierce arctic winds. She sighed and sat up, stretching her arms, feeling her entire body throb with exhaustion. 

_Sleep will just have to take its time in arriving_, she thought, fairly disappointed.

She looked over to the right where the once warming bon fire stood. It was now drastically reduced in size, and there was one chair directly in front of the fire. In that chair was Aragorn.

She got up and walked over towards him, listening to her footsteps echoing against the chamber, their sound seemingly magnified against the dense silence of the fort around her. At first she figured he was asleep, for his breathing was in a rhythmic manner, and he did not move. His hood was covering his entire face, and she could only see his mouth and his chin. Turning to leave, glad at least one of them was getting rest, her suspicions were subdued when he spoke.

"My Lady, why are you awake?" Aragorn looked up from underneath his hood. His eyes were reflecting the warm fire he sat in front of, yet he looked ill at ease.

"I could not sleep, but I noticed you were awake. I wanted to make sure everything was…alright…with you." Eowyn walked closer at sat down in a chair next to him. He turned to look at her, and she felt her heart flutter again. His understanding eyes seemed to look right into her soul. She was comforted with the slight smile he was able to muster.

"You are very observant."

"As a woman of these times, I need to be." It was freezing in the chamber, and despite herself she shivered.

"You do not feel well protected?" Aragorn asked, removing his cloak.

"I must be able to fend for myself," Eowyn responded as Aragorn draped his cloak over her shoulders. His cloak was warm and soothing; she was eternally grateful for it.

Aragorn nodded. "That is an important thing one must be able to do. Luckily, I was raised and trained by the elves. They are masters at defense and the art of war." He said this, his voice basking in nostalgia, his eyes unblinking, staring into the fire that burned brightly and crackled before them.

Eowyn looked perplexed. "I was told elves loathe war."

Aragorn once again smiled. "You are well learned also, I see. Yes, they do hate war. Yet they feel that it is sometimes a necessary evil."

Nodding, Eowyn pulled Aragorn's cloak around herself. It was warm and comforting…as was Aragorn. From the moment she first met him, she had been intrigued by his regality, his poise. He was a Ranger, yet there was something truly dignified about him. Eowyn was sure her feelings for him were neutral, yet when Gimli had told her Aragorn had fallen, she felt beside herself with grief. Her head became light, her chest felt hollow, and she had trouble breathing. It was then that she realized what she longed for. She longed for Aragorn to hold her in his arms

Yet she knew his heart belonged to another.

She had heard Gimli speak of her to Aragorn before the battle. Eowyn assumed this was the woman whom Aragorn's talisman was from. He wore it around his neck, and often times found him holding onto it, looking at it, or touching it. 

Before she could stop herself, Eowyn heard herself ask, "Who is Arwen?"

Immediately after she asked the question, Eowyn wished she hadn't. Aragorn's eyes grew painstakingly distressed, his shoulders slouched, his whole demeanor seemed to collapse into depression. 

"I, I'm sorry, I should not have asked. This is no business of mine," Eowyn whispered, feeling guilty for putting such distress upon him. She felt her cheeks burn and her head start to ache.

_What am I thinking?_

Aragorn sat in silence for what seemed for eternity to Eowyn. Then, suddenly, he spoke. "Arwen is gone."

_Gone…_

"Gone?"

"Yes. She is an elf. She sailed to the Undying Lands to be with her family and to forever live in peace."

"And she left you behind?" Eowyn felt sadness in her heart for the Ranger. Yet, to her surprise, he smiled. But his smile was not one of joy, but of regret. 

"No, my Lady. It was _I_ who left _her_ behind." Painfully stated, tragically said. She could tell thinking about her brought him both pain and comfort. She lowered her eyes to the floor, not wanting to be intrusive, but curiously intrigued by Arwen…

_He loves her, doesn't he?_

"Yet you love her, do you not?" Eowyn asked, dreading the answer. She knew her voice sounded hollow, eager. Yet she did not care. She cautiously raised her eyes from the dank stone floor and looked to Aragorn.

Aragorn returned her gaze, his eyes brimming with tears. He seemed to be overcome with joy and despair, eagerness and regret, anger and calm at the same time. Yet he answered in a wavering voice.

 "More than life itself."

And that was when Eowyn knew Aragorn would never hold her in his arms.


	5. Shades of Gray

**Disclaimer: **Do you think I'm J.R.R. Tolkien? If you do, then I will definitely take it as a compliment. But I'm not: sorry to those who I disappointed.

**A/N: **I hope you're liking this story so far. I'm getting great reviews…..thanks so much you guys! But to all of you who aren't reviewing: Shame, shame! 

**The Shadow of Death**

****

_Shades of Gray_

Gimli knew something was wrong. He could feel it in his very bones; a feeling of icy cold pinpricks invading his muscles, a feeling of ominous foreboding that lingered in his mind like a dark storm cloud. It had awakened him from a very revitalizing sleep, and, needless to say, he was fairly annoyed. 

_Finally, an appropriate time to sleep, _he thought to himself agitatedly, _and it turns out I can't._

Tossing and turning, the dwarf mumbled under his breath. He could feel the weight of slumber upon his eyes, the calm and steady hand of sleep reaching out to him, beckoning him ever closer into hours of comfort. Alas, the hand was not reliable enough. Sleep simply wouldn't visit him. Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Gimli made to stand up, but froze in his movements when he heard a muffled cry from down the corridor.

_Legolas__.___

Jumping to his feet, he grabbed his ever-faithful axe and sprinted towards Legolas's cry. He ran as fast as his short legs could carry him, ignoring the shooting pains in his thighs, the burning in his throat, the stinging in his eyes. Panting and trying ever so hard not to collapse in exhaustion and pain, it was amazing that he ever noticed Aragorn appear to his left, an alarmed but cautious look dawning upon his regal face.

"Master Dwarf, did you hear that?" Aragorn asked, putting an arm out to stop Gimli from running.

"Aye. It sounded as if it belonged to Legolas," continued the dwarf with bated breath, secretly grateful for the short break. But to his dismay, Aragorn turned away from him and began running without giving him a response. "Bloody humans," he huffed. "I'd be able to run like them if I had their legs…."

When Gimli was almost positive he could run no more, he almost wept in gratitude when Aragorn stopped running and pointed to a wooden door perhaps three meters in front of them.

"There." 

With confident strides, Aragorn approached the door. Gimli followed him, still panting but completely aware of the adrenaline racing through his veins. He held up his axe and took his position behind Aragorn, squinting his eyes and gritting his teeth in anticipation. Whoever was harming Legolas had best abandon his doings now, because the way Gimli was feeling at that moment, he could have taken on a whole army of Uruks. He didn't let anyone harm his close companions without a fight.

Aragorn whipped out his sword and kicked down the door which fell upon the floor with a clatter that awoke all of sleeping Middle Earth. Gimli followed the Ranger in coughing and squinting through the dust and debris from the fallen door, expecting to defend Legolas against any Uruk-Hai that might have sneaked into Helm's Deep.

Yet to his surprise, he was not viciously fighting a dark warrior, nor was he injured and bleeding upon the stone floor. Instead, he was staring in disbelief at Gandalf. He looked torn in half, as if his very soul was being ripped into shreds; his mouth was slightly ajar, his skin glimmering in a sickly pate-like manner, his eyes wide with a mixture of uncertainty and trepidation. Gimli knew not what to do, so he just stood there, hoping for a good explanation as to why he was disturbed from a good nap to come to the rescue of a friend who didn't need to be rescued at all.

It was Gandalf who spoke, noticing the awkward situation at hand. "There is no alarm here. Legolas and I need to speak alone." Yet as Gandalf said this, Gimli noticed out of the corner of his eye that Legolas was slowly backing away from them all, shaking his head in apparent disbelief. 

"Legolas, _mellonin, what is wrong?" Aragorn asked, apparently as confused as Gimli. Yet Legolas did not respond. His retreat ceased, yet his head still shook as if he were experiencing an uncontrollable tremor._

"Gandalf, what is wrong?" asked Aragorn with pleading eyes. Gimli could tell he was truly distressed and felt his own heart beat with confused anticipation. Yet Gandalf said nothing. 

"Gandalf, why is Legolas in pain?" he repeated moving towards the White Wizard. Still, he said nothing.

"Why are you not explaining this?" A panicked tone crept into the Ranger's voice, a tone Gimli had not heard. He peered at him, concentrating on his worried eyes as if trying to make sense of the new emotion that Legolas's condition had evoked from his human friend. It wansn't concern for that tone Gimli had heard Aragorn use far too often for comfort. It wasn't anger…his voice was too even for that. But he finally realized what the emotion was, and felt the pit of his stomach sink: it was fear.

"Because it is not mine to explain," came the answer. It was not the response Legolas's companions were looking for.

Gimli and Aragorn both set their eyes upon Legolas, praying with false hope that he would explain what was troubling him. Yet all he did was comment, with downcast eyes, "I must be alone." The dwarf noticed the resigned yet numbly dull expressions used in his response. But before he could reply, Aragorn exploded. 

"NO! Legolas, you must speak! This is not the way of your people. You will drown yourself in misery. If you don't share your pain, you will be your own demise! Can't you see, or are you blinded to your heritage? If you fall too deep into despair you won't be able to emerge. You know this; why do you ignore it?" The last words of the Ranger's pleads echoed mockingly off of the chamber walls, slowly growing softer until they succumbed to silence. As Gimli stared in awe and surprise at Aragorn, he was taken aback by Legolas's response. 

He walked briskly towards Aragorn, his own elven knives drawn, a stony expression on his face…an expression that looked misplaced upon such a handsome and generous face as Legolas's. "What do you know of my people?" he spat in a surprisingly surly manner. "You are a man, I am an elf. You know nothing of the us. You think because you were raised by them that all of my people will immediately accept you as one of their own? You dare to lecture me about my customs and culture?" Legolas's voice was growing angrier and louder as he got closer and closer to Aragorn. "You do not know what I am going through! Speak I will not. This is my business to be dealt with by myself. I wish to be alone. You will leave me voluntarily, or you will leave me by my force. The choice is yours to make."

Gimli, his eyes wide and mouth gaping was fully astounded by Legolas's response. As Legolas came to a hold merely three feet from the Ranger, the dwarf noticed that his friend clutched his knives so hard his knuckles were white. His breathing was shallow yet edgy, his usually crisp blue eyes dull and fading into an unmistakable coffee brown.

As if Legolas's behavior wasn't alarming enough, Gimli almost groaned in dismay and distress when Aragorn drew his own sword, carefully positioning it in a non-threatening hold. "You are my friend, and I will not fight you. I am only looking out for your own good. I now feel like I do not know you. If you only told me what was ailing you - "

Aragorn ceased abruptly in his words when Legolas erupted into laughter. His laugh was a laugh of pain, of sorrow, and of anguish. Yet somehow it was unfamiliar to Gimli's ears. He had the strange impression that it was not his friend who laughed…but someone else. "You know naught of what you speak," he finally muttered loud enough for all to hear.

"I know you."

"I speak not of myself. I speak of others."  
            

"I am not concerned about others; only you."

And once again, Legolas laughed. His laugh sent shivers up and down Gimli's spine, making him almost drop his axe. He moved to stand next to Aragorn protectively. The laugh had caught him off guard and had made his mind spin with worry: the laugh was not amused, not afraid, not used to disguse an uncomfortable feeling. It was a laugh of pure malevolent desire.            

"Leave me, human, or I will kill you."  
            

Gimli heard the breath in Aragorn's lungs catch in unexpected disgust. Never had such ugly words departed from such a giving and caring friend as Legolas. But as he turned his eyes upon his ailing friend, he noticed he did not merely resemble the Prince of Mirkwood he had only hours before. He appeared unmistakably different with the purely evil smirk he donned, his posture noticeably tight and edgy, the knives in his hands firmly grasped. He was hardly a shadow of the full-hearted prince they all knew.

Aragorn looked to Gandalf who stood frozen to the spot, seemingly calm yet with eyes of stormy wonder. He returned his gaze, perhaps more intently than a normal gaze would consist of. Aragorn took a step back, and Gimli noticed his face cringe as if he had just been slapped. But suddenly a look of complete comprehension swept across his face, his eyes relaxing in comprehension, his jaw patiently lax, his posture less rigid and tense. Gimli wondered what the White Wizard had told him without even speaking. 

"Emradril."

Legolas seemed taken aback by this name. His dark smirk faded, his shoulders slouched. "What did you say?"

"Emradril. Emradril was your brother." An incredulous look sprawled its long fingers across Gimli's already-perplexed face. He had heard of Emradril before…most had. The hatred he had bestowed upon others was notorious throughout the peoples of Middle Earth, and Gimli could not believe that the heartless bastard who had killed so many could be, in any way, related to Legolas.

 "_Mellonin, do not follow in the footsteps of your brother's fate," Gimli heard Aragorn whisper beseechingly. _

"Speak naught of my brother, for you know nothing of him."

"Legolas! The Shadow is taking you," said Aragorn in a voice barely above a whisper. 

This statement seemed to make Legolas think. A heavy pause deafened Gimli's hearing as he studied Legolas in a light he had never stood under before. Suddenly, he looked like a lost child.

"The Shadow will never take me," he responded, probably less reassuring than he hoped. "The Shadow destroyed my family and the lives of one thousand of my fellow elves." It was painstakingly obvious that Legolas made this statement for no one but himself, and Gimli knew Legolas was not only trying to be convincing to them, but to himself as well. 

With a deafening shatter that sliced through the silence, Aragorn threw down his sword,. "You cannot deny this. Look at yourself! Your weapon is drawn, you threatened to murder me. _Mellonin__, tel la lun un galad._" 

Aragorn advanced on Legolas who seemed grounded to the spot. He dropped one of his knives upon the ground. Yet all he whispered was, "No."

Gimli knew not what to say. He watched Legolas turn his back to them, slowly turning as if it were painful. He bowed his head, and he noticed that the prince looked down upon an elf, now residing in the Halls of Mandos, laying upon the floor silently and motionlessly. To his surprise, he noticed it was Haldir.

"_Tel la lun un galad, mellonin,_" Aragorn repeated, reaching out towards him. "Do not fall victim to the same disease that caused the fall of your brother."

Gimli could hear a sigh and turned to see Gandalf shake his head. "Estel, there is more to this than you think. You cannot simply convince him to come back to the light. He is consumed in Shadow. It must be removed."

"Then I'll remove it!" yelled Aragorn, obviously pained that he could do nothing but issue hollow words of comfort. 

Once again, Gandalf shook his head. "That you cannot do."

"Why not?" Again, the question of a friend wallowing in his own helplessness.

"Legolas must do it himself."

All eyes turned to rest upon the elf prince himself. His back was still towards them, and he did not move nor make a sound. It was almost as if he were afraid to move, afraid of losing his self-control again. "How long do I have?" The question was uttered this so softly that Gimli barely made out what he had said.

"It is hard to say, Legolas. But you do not have long. Perhaps twenty-four hours at most." Gandalf faced the elf, his expression sad. Yet Aragorn noticed a twinkle in Gandalf's eyes, a small shade of hope. And in turn, Aragorn began to feel as if not all was indeed lost. 

But Legolas was not as optimistic.

"How can I lift this…from me?" Gimli noticed the lack of the word "shadow", and knew it was because the word itself would leave a foul taste upon the pure and delicate tongue that spoke it.

Gandalf sighed, "I wish I knew."

"Excuse me, but I think you have to give him more of an answer than that!" Gimli had found his voice. He had lost it, too busy trying to figure out what he could do to help Legolas while at the same time trying to figure out what ailed him in the first place.

"Master Gimli, all of the answers I do not hold. This one is too far beyond my grasp. There is no advice I can give, no spells I can cast, no actions I can take. This situation lies solely upon Legolas."

Aragorn knew this was true, yet it didn't make this fact any more comforting. "_Mellonin__, what do you want us to do?"_

Legolas directed his eyes to meet Aragorn's. He held his gaze for a few minutes, then he answered.

"Leave me be."

~*~

If Legolas asked me to leave him alone…..well, let's just say it wouldn't be pretty. 

"Reviews helps the muse grow fonder"….. quote of the week. And she needs a lot of growing as of now. (ok, what im trying to say is: REVIEW)


	6. A Ray of Light

**Disclaimer: **Lemme check….nope, still definitely own anything of J.R.R. Tolkien's genius work. But I do own Emradril, the traitor.

From background: "Hey, I'm not a traitor!"

"To all of my readers you are!"  
  


Goes off in corner to sulk.

**A/N: **Hope you're enjoying so far. I decided to take a different approach to this chapter…..fifteen points to the person who sees the symbolism in this. (Thank you Mrs. Hancock, my crazy English teacher who taught me the importance of symbolism)

**The Shadow of Death**

****

_A Ray of Light_

"Leave him be? Leave him be? He can't be serious!" yelled Gimli. Aragorn was dragging him away from the chamber of the Elven dead, screaming, kicking and threatening to chop Aragorn's head off if he did not let him go back and help Legolas. He had to admit that the Dwarf was exceptionally strong for his size and stature, and it took almost all of the Ranger's strength to hold him back. 

"There is nothing you can do! There is nothing any of us can do!" huffed Aragorn, becoming visibly annoyed and aggrivated. "Stop this, Gimli. It is of no use."

 "There has to be someway I can help! I'll be damned if I let my friend suffer alone!" 

To this statement, Aragorn had no answer.

~*~

But alone he did suffer. He suffered more than he had ever suffered before. It hurt to think, it hurt to breathe, it hurt to speak. He felt himself becoming ever more weak and irritable. He was angry one minute, depressed the next. He could feel his senses deteriorate. He was becoming clumsier, his eyesight grew cloudier, his hearing became muffled. 

He was becoming an orc.

The irony of it all was almost humorous. It caused Legolas's stomach to churn unpleasantly and brought about bouts of temporary guilt with an essence of complete hopelessness. Legolas had spent his whole life fighting against the orcs. They had slaughtered his fellow elves, killed his mother, and caused the demise of his brother.

And now he was becoming one.

Yet before his thoughts saturated in despair became too much for him to handle, Legolas had to decide how to cope with this enduring and insuppressible fate. And he had to decide now. Would he fight this Shadow to the fullest, forever in battle against an unforeseeable and intangible enemy? Or would he collapse under it's everlasting weight like a bridge that could not withstand the flood waters of a raging river? But whatever he could do, a feeling of uncontrollable hopelessness surrounded him as a tangible and dank cloud.

_'Tis hopeless, _Legolas wallowed, shaking his head bleakly.

_Nay, nothing is ever hopeless, my son. Hope exists in us all._

Startled, Legolas looked up from the floor. He heard a voice inside his head, a voice of a She-Elf. It was a warm and comforting voice, but very distant. It echoed within the cavity of his skull like a soft whisper that kept getting louder and more pronounced. Legolas strained his memory, and closed his eyes, shutting out the present world and traveling back into the past...

_He was sitting in a tree. He could smell the must from the forest floor mixing with the fresh fragrant of various wildflowers in bloom. He could feel the rough yet soothing bark against his palms,  feel the tree vibrate and pulse with life.  It was a cloudy day outside, and rain was trickling down from the treetops. Yet he was on a very low branch, perhaps one meter from the forest floor. He looked up and strained his eyes. He saw a very delicate-looking brown haired she-Elf looking down upon him from a higher branch._

_"It is hopeless, Amme. I cannot climb that high!"_

_"Nay, nothing is ever hopeless, my son. Hope exists in us all." His mother smiled down at him, holding out for his hand. _

_He was scared. Yet he knew he had to learn, otherwise all of the other Elven children would tease him. Others had learned before him, and Legolas knew that he must learn too. He was hesitant, he was doubtful, but the goal must be reached. He felt his heart pound in his ribs, and felt tears of apprehension reach his eyes and tease his eyelids, threatening to flow. But he could not stand there forever. Thus, he began to climb._

_Carefully and very slowly Legolas reached for the higher branch upon which his mother sat and grasped hold of it. He pulled himself up by his arms, pushing his feet against the dark russet bark of the tree, using it to help propel himself upwards. He felt the cold wind toss his flaxen hair over his eyes, but he dared not let go of the tree, for fear of losing his balance. He felt his mind, attacked by suspicions and fear, become suddenly hesitant and unsure of itself. Suddenly, the task seemed impossible._

_"That's it. Come on, my son, that's it..." encouraged his mother, holding out her hand. "Come on, Legolas. You're almost there!"_

_But Legolas kept slipping on the wet tree bark, his mind reeling with agitating thoughts and blinding doubtfulness. "No! Amme, help me!"_

_"Legolas, you can do it. Set your mind to it, Legolas. Summon all of your strength and determination. This is a task you must do alone."_

_Legolas__ closed his eyes, and gathered all of his courage. He thought of how proud his father would be, about how the elven children wouldn't ever tease him, about the comfort of his mothers arms once he reached her branch..._

_Warmth of a different kind penetrated his skin and settled into his bones, maturing in his fibers. It grew warmer, pleasantly drifting from his bones to his muscles, from his muscles to his skin, from his skin to his mind, from his mind to his heart, from his heart into his very soul. It soon radiated from him, comforted him, gave him the strength that he had needed. The pleasant heat that now washed over him had given him the chance to succeed. Little did he know that heat was self-determination.   _

_The heat warming his insides and turning his worries into ashes, Legolas  pulled himself up. He had succeeded. A smile erupting onto his delicate face, he fell into his mothers arms with bated breath but with a jovial heart._

_"My son!__ That was wonderful. __Ada__ will be so proud of you..as am I." He looked up into his mother's face, and felt his soul grow complete when he noticed she was smiling. "I knew you could do it. I knew my son wouldn't give up."_

And as he wiped away the stray tears evoked by his memory, Legolas knew at that moment that he couldn't give up. Ever.

~*~

**Special thanks to: Melissa Greenleaf, Nyctophobia, Orangeblossom Took, LotR fan, jambaby1963, Orangeblossom, MoroTheWolfGod, Lady Lenna, Shaan Lien, daw the minstrel, Jedi Ha-Li, Diasy Brambleburr, Nevweh, Tithen Min, Dot, Tindomiel, and Rose for their awesome reviews!**

Jealous that they're mentioned and you're not? Want your name there? No money orders needed: just review!


	7. Spectrums

**Disclaimer: **(*sigh*) Every time I write this, I get more and more depressed. Jeez….I hope this doesn't turn me into an orc. (by the way, I don't own Lord of the Rings if you haven't figured it out).

**A/N: **This chapter contains some of Aragorn's POV. I thought it would be interesting and add some other perspectives on this story. Let me know what you think!

**The Shadow of Death**

****

_Spectrums_

It was still cold.

It had not been warm since the battle for Helm's Deep began. The sun had not shone through the endless sea of clouds, the wind did not cease, and it had been drizzling rain for six hours straight. But Aragorn, son of Arathorn, stood atop of the Wall at Helm's Deep nonetheless.

Aragorn did not know, in his mind, why he stood there, but in his heart he did: it was the exact same spot Legolas stood for so many hours before. He had been trying to get a sense of what Legolas had gone through, the pain he was trying to endure, the tragedy he would have to live through and learn to accept. He knew he needed to help his friend, but he didn't know how. He thought, for some unexplainable reason, that if he stood where his friend had stood hours before, he might understand what he was going through.

This, of course, did not work. Aragorn realized that he could never, and would never with the grace of Elbereth, experience what Legolas was going through. He could not even begin to imagine the emotions that must be surrounding him, the pure despair and everlasting confusion wrought within his mind and his soul. It would be an everlasting battle. It was an omnipresent guilt, a Shadow that would reside with Legolas for eternity. But Aragorn was not going to allow him to give in. He had lost Boromir, he had lost Haldir. But they both fell fighting for a cause greater than any of them. 

And he was not going to let Legolas fall without a fight.

Aragorn wished he could fight this battle for him. He had always been a leader, always been in command. He would fight to the death for any of his friends, and Legolas was no exception. When a friend was in trouble, Aragorn helped. When a friend needed advice, Aragorn was there to talk to. When a friend's life was in danger, Aragorn was there to help defend him.

But none of these things could save Legolas.

It was aggravating. It was unnerving. And suddenly, it made Aragorn extremely mad. 

_Why did this have to happen to Legolas?_ Thought Aragorn, knitting his brows together. _What did Legolas do to deserve this? He had always been faithful to all who were good at heart. He was like a brother to him: they had been through hardships and celebrations, trouble and peace. Yet they had always conquered obstacles together, using and protecting each other. But, according to Gandalf, Legolas would have to win this war on his own. Aragorn shook his head. Life had been so much better, so much simpler before the War of the Ring. But now his former life lay in ruins, along with the Impenetrable Wall at Helm's Deep._

…He should have shot the Uruk-Hai warrior himself. He had his bow in his hand and saw the torch-wielding warrior before anyone else had. He could have called for Legolas to help him instead of putting the responsibility on Legolas alone. Two archers had a better change at bring down a warrior than one. He knew it was his fault Legolas was falling into Shadow. And, to his despair, Aragorn realized he couldn't even catch him or help break his fall. Legolas's fate lay in his own hands, and Aragorn had to remind himself that those hands were out of reach.

As the rain started to fall heavier, guilt fell with it. It saturated his cloak, washed over his tangled brown hair and dripped down into his eyes, slowly descending his face to fall onto the stone floor upon which he stood.

_It's all my fault…_

If the Wall would have held, two hundred souls would still be living. And there would be no reason for Legolas to feel such despair. Perhaps if the Wall would not have been conquered, Legolas would have never had to battle with the Shadow that ominously resided within his friend's soul.

_It's all my fault_. _And I can never forgive myself for that._

_Ever.___

~*~

"Maybe we can just keep him company, you know? Perhaps just keep him thinking optimistically. It might help. Or, or maybe we could tell him happy stories. Yes. Happy stories are always good. Wait! I know, I know! We should  - Gandalf, are you listening to a word I'm saying?"

"No." 

Gandalf felt annoyed at the Dwarf's incessant babbling; it was like a running commentary that never stopped. He stood inside a small chamber, looking out the window, his back to the Dwarf.

Gimli, obviously miffed at Gandalf's apparent decision to ignore him, responded gruffly, "Fine, then. I heard _your_ suggestions on what we should do. Let me tell you, they were no better."

Gandalf did not answer; he did not feel the need to. Gimli was not weak-minded; he knew that Legolas must conquer his internal battle himself. Yet Dwarves were always loyal, and always worked as a group. If one member of the group was hurt or ailing, it was the innate responsibility of the rest to help. Not being able to assist Legolas, or think of a way to make him better, was absolutely driving the Dwarf mad.

_What would Frodo have decided to do? _Gandalf found himself wondering as he stared out at the horizon where a flock of birds were traveling West. Their wings glided gracefully across the gentle wind, their only mindset was flying freely, not a worry or care in their feathered being. _Would he have let Legolas figure this out himself? Or would he have stayed in there, never leaving the elf's side? _

But he knew which of the two Frodo would have done. And it wasn't the one Gandalf was presently doing.

_But they don't understand_, Gandalf reassured himself. The birds veered to the North ever so slightly, but continued to fly West. _I don't even think Legolas understands. This stain is not simply like dirt. Dirt can easily be washed away with some water. But this Shadow is a deep scar that penetrates beyond the skin. And the mark stays there forever. It will still be there for years to come if Legolas survives it._

_If_.

 It was true that others before Legolas had successfully overcome the Shadow; but those victors did not have a family line of victims as Legolas did. This made his chances of surviving the Shadow extremely small. Of course he would not tell the others of this; Aragorn might sense it, but there was no reason to confirm his worries. He did not want to make any of the others upset before the time came. If Legolas failed, there would be plenty of time to be saddened and awash with grief.

_If._

_And what if Legolas does fail? _Gandalf asked himself. _What if he is unable to overcome this?_

Gandalf knew the answer. But he refused to think of it.

~*~

Suspense? Wish you knew what was happening to Legolas? Sick of Gimli, Gandalf, Aragorn, or all of the above? Let me know by……(drumroll please)…..REVIEWING!


	8. Reflections

**Disclaimer: **I wish, I wish, I wish……but no. I don't own Lord of the Rings.

"You own me!"

"Silencio, Emradril!"

**A/N: **This chapter is one of Legolas's memory. I thought it was needed to put Legolas's and Emradril's relationship in a better light, and to clear up any murky subjects that you were confused on. It's a different pace…..let me know what you think!

****

**The Shadow of Death**

_Reflections_

_It was pouring rain. He could hear sobs of grief, muffled cries. His view was blurry due to the thick, wet raindrops, steadily descending from the Heavens like a decree from the Valar. He stood beneath an ornate pallid stone balcony in front of the Castle of Thranduil._

_His father stood to the right, his eyes sad and unblinking. His usually youthful face now looked old and weary. Only a vague trace of sleepless emotion could be detected in the air surrounding the king.  He held his son's hand, squeezing it so hard that Legolas was slightly in pain. Why he was there Legolas could not remember. All he remembered was that he was tired, he was hungry, and he was bored. And as a young elfling, he dared to make it known._

_"__Ada__, I'm tired."_

_"Legolas, behave yourself," came the brisk but patient reply._

_"But __Ada__, I'm hungry too!" Legolas persisted, pulling on his father's robes. "I want Lembas bread!"_

_"Legolas!__ Must I reprimand you? You are a prince. Behave yourself at once." His father looked down at his son with sharp eyes._

_"But __Ada__-__"_

_"You put me to shame with your behavior, Legolas! Stop this!"_

_"I hate you! I want my Amme!" shouted Legolas, ripping his hand from his father's grasp and running down the stone steps towards __Mirkwood__ _Forest___. _

_"Legolas!__ Come back here this instant!" shouted his father._

_But Legolas heeded him not. He ran._

_And he ran, and he ran. _

_He ran as fast as his short legs could carry him. His throat felt as if it was on fire, his legs ached, and his heart pounded. He wanted his Amme, but no one would tell him where she was. He had asked his father, who did not answer. He asked his servants who would then quickly dismiss themselves and walk away. Tears of frustration entered his eyes as he realized he had not seen his Amme in days. Why wasn't she there when he had climbed that tree the other morn? Why was she absent when he had shot his first arrow into the heart of a target thirty meters away? _

_Where was she? _

_No one would tell him. But in his heart he knew he would never see his Amme again; only his mind lagged behind in the desperate attempt to grasp that undeniably and undaunted sense of loss. The logic of a young elf had blinded his eyes from seeing that his Amme was dead._

_Suddenly someone grabbed his left arm from behind. Legolas, startled by the force at which he was stopped, whirled around to see an elf of about 400 years, towering over him. This elf had light brown hair like Amme, braided in the ceremonial style of a warrior. He wore a full uniform of the Mirkwood Guard, with emblems upon his left breast that indicated his rank as a General._

_"Stop this foolishness, Legolas. We must go back for the ceremony," hissed Emradril, restraining his younger brother._

_"No! I want Amme!" screamed Legolas, trying to wrench himself from his grip._

_"Legolas, stop it! The ceremony is for her. Amme is dead!" _

_Legolas__ stopped struggling and turned to look up into his brother's green eyes. They were writhing with mixed emotions; one minute angry, the next minute regretful. _

_"Dead?"___

_He word had almost refused to come out of his mouth. His heart had known, his mind had not. Thus, with his heart still aching as it had been for days, his head felt as if it were going to explode._

_Emradril__ nodded, loosening his grip on Legolas. "She is never coming back."_

_"Why? Did I do something wrong? Is that why she left?" trembled Legolas, tears now streaming down his face. _

_Amme__ was dead…_

_Emradril__ said nothing. He let go of Legolas's arm, and knelt down in front of him. "There was nothing that you did wrong, Legolas." He paused and wiped his eyes. "It was I whose fault it was."_

_"It's your fault Amme is never coming back?" asked Legolas, now wiping his eyes furiously with the sleeve of his dress robes, the pouring rain hitting his head and shoulders, making him shiver as the soft wind swept around him in a playful fashion. Emradril nodded. _

_No…_

_ Legolas turned once again to run. But Emradril's reflexes were quick from his training in the Armed Guard. He picked his brother up who was still struggling to get away, still screaming, his blood boiling with anger, his heart aching with loss, his mind reeling from the information it had so long refused to accept._

_"You killed Amme! It's your fault she's not coming back! I hate you! I never want to see you again!" Legolas screamed himself hoarse, his nose running, his tears falling. He desperately wanted to escape from his brother's arms and run as far away from him as he could. _

_"You know naught of what you speak," contested Emradril, now visibly angry at Legolas. "Quiet! Do you have no respect?"_

_"I don't have respect for you! You killed Amme!" _

_And with that, Emradril threw Legolas to the ground and slapped him across the face, so hard he could feel a welt beginning to form immediately._

_Legolas__ stopped crying. He had never been slapped before in his short life. His nose was bleeding, and the welt was beginning to sting. He gritted his teeth, and stared into his brother's eyes. Tears of shock and hurt grouped behind Legolas's cerulean eyes, as the sense of abandonment swirled around him with the wind... _

_"Speak like that again, Legolas, and I will leave you here to freeze."_

_Legolas__ was undeniably scared. He did not want to be left alone, especially in the pouring rain. His teeth were chattering, his clothes were soaked, his ceremonial braids were ruined. Yet he was so angry at his brother, he literally shook with the impulse to scream and punch and fight his brother. How dare Emradril take Amme away? It's all Emradril's fault that Amme's never coming back… _

_Amme's__ never coming back…Amme's never coming back…Amme's never coming back…_

_"Then leave me here!" he shouted in defiance, screwing up his face until it was unrecognizable. He stared into his brother's eyes insolently, as if daring his brother to hit him again. Instead,  Emradril turned on his heels and walked in the direction of their father's castle, leaving his little brother in the middle of Mirkwood alone…_

_Amme's__ never coming back…_

Legolas was shocked at his sudden memory of his older brother. He wondered why he had not remembered his brother before, and why he did not have this memory of running away.

_Why would you have memory of it? He asked himself. __Elves push bad memories from their minds. We are taught to forget them, to focus on the good. The bad memories are buried with the dead._

But now sitting in the chamber with his lifeless elven brethren, he knew that it was the act of pushing this memory out of his mind and running from it was now going to be the death of him.

From _this realization, Legolas could not run._

~*~

Poor Legolas……..what am I doing to him? I feel absolutely terrible. But the question remains: will I feel even more terrible when this story is done? Continue reading to see…..mwahahahaha! Being evil is highly underrated.


	9. Refractions

**Disclaimer: **No, still not owner of Lord of the Rings. But will someone take Emradril? He won't stop sulking in the corner. Elbereth, he's annoying.

"Then you shouldn't have created me!"  
  


"Don't remind me."

**A/N: **This chapter focuses on Eowyn and Aragorn, and their relationship. I am doing this to create a few side stories and conflicts beside Legolas's….maybe it makes the story more interesting (I hope).

**The Shadow of Death**

****

_Refractions_

Eowyn could not find him. She looked everywhere, for her uncle wished to speak with him in a council as soon as possible. He had sent her on a mission to find him. Unfortunately, that mission had turned into an hour of searching at least. She checked and re-checked chambers, asked everyone and anyone if they had seen him. Yet all of their answers were the same: they had not seen him for hours. Eowyn was slightly alarmed, and continued on until her frantic searching finally became fruitful. She found him in the last place she would ever look.

He stood atop of the Wall, in freezing winds and drizzling rain. He wore only his armor, for he had given her his cloak, which she now wrapped around herself in an attempt to protect her body from the spindly fingers of the icy rain and gusts of wind. But he did not look cold. In fact, he seemed to be in his own world, blocking out all sounds and all movement, concentrating only on his mind, his thoughts, his feelings…

"My Lord?"

Aragorn did not respond with voice or with gesture. So she repeated herself, if not a little louder this time.

  
"My Lord?"

She saw him bow his head and heard him clear his throat. She patiently watched as she saw him rub his face with his hands, brush his hair out of his eyes, and slowly turned to look at her. He wore an expression of a man who had very heavy thoughts on his mind, thoughts that were of both great importance, thoughts that required more than thought but instead, actual contemplation.

"Yes, my Lady. You wish to speak with me?" his voice was soft yet distracted.

"Aye. My uncle wishes to hold a council, and he would be honored if you would attend," stated Eowyn, squinting against the sharp winds in a desperate attempt to relieve the stinging sensation in her eyes. Her golden hair swirled around her as the gusts grew stronger, but she ignored both and stared intently at Aragorn, awaiting an answer. At first, he looked none too thrilled about this invitation; he seemed to be debating within the core of his mind whether to attend.  However, he finally nodded his agreement.

As they walked back towards the serene fort, Eowyn felt a great concern arise in her chest. Aragorn had seemed saddened if not depressed…she wished desperately that she could be of assistance. Before long she heard herself ask, "What's troubling you?"

Aragorn presented her with a swift sideways glance that was barely noticeable. He cleared his throat and spoke clearly, but none too convincingly. "It is of no consequence: petty matters that do not impact upon the current events at hand. I will attend your uncle's council," he reassured her as she looked at him with skeptical eyes.

"I do not wonder if you shall attend the council or not. I wonder why you are troubled," persisted Eowyn, looking intently at his avoiding eyes. It must be a personal matter that was affecting him this way…no matter of politic or battle could cause the disturbance of the usual calm she found in his face.

"I am always troubled, my Lady," he responded, consistently avoiding her gaze, "there is much to be troubled about in these times."

"Nay, my Lord. You are troubled by another, more personal tragedy."

Aragorn sighed heavily. His footsteps slowed and eventually died. He brushed a hand through his hair again and looked into her eyes for the first time during their conversation: they were wary and thoughtful, yet pained and confused at the same time. "That you are right about. Legolas is…sick, and it is my fault. Yet I am unable to help him. It's…something I'm not used to," he finished, once again looking away from her eyes to stare at the stone floor.

Eowyn did not know what to say that would be of comfort to him. She reaped her mind for words of wisdom, but none showed themselves. Frustrated and feeling the need to say something, she could only stand there and eye Aragorn sadly. He seemed to have felt the awkward silence sprout between them, and he took it upon himself to stop its growth.

"Yet there is nothing to be done. There are many wounded and many in mourning...my personal problems come after those of my men."

Eowyn smiled despite herself. "Such a leader, aren't you?" She paused and studied him.Suddenly her smile faded. "Perhaps it is you who is in need of Healing."

Aragorn did not answer this. Instead, he took Eowyn's hand and looked down at it. She could feel his warm hand caress her own, with such a subtle softness that it felt as if a sigh had simply brushed its way past her skin. "You remind me of her."

Eowyn needed not to ask who "her" was. She knew he spoke of Arwen, and her heart swelled with affection for him. "How so?"

"Your confidence and your advice. She would have said the same thing," he whispered, looking into her eyes. Some of the warmth and raw emotion had returned to them, and she felt a tingle run up her spine. They now held a glimmer that they had not held when they stood upon the Wall; they had an almost childish innocence to them, an adventurous gratefulness that Eowyn could not explain. Yet it made her feel more at ease and a little less worried for him.  

There was a pregnant pause, and Eowyn suddenly reached out and hugged him. He embraced her in return, clinging tightly to her, and whispered, "I wish you contentment and happiness, Eowyn…you deserve it. I cannot offer any."

"Yes you can, Aragorn," she responded in a hushed voice. "You offered Arwen both, and this is why she loves you." 

He let go of her, smiling, his eyes now sparkling. He looked at first as if he could not speak. Eowyn nodded to let him know she understood, a smile of relief flooding her face as color rushed to her cheeks, giving off the impression that she was extremely happy for the Ranger.

 "Thank you," he finally managed to murmur. With those last words, he turned from her and strode down the passage towards the chamber hallway.

~*~

Well…..what do you think? Love Eowyn? Hate Eowyn? Love Aragorn? Hate Aragorn? Somehow feel all of these things at once? Let me know by….well, you know how.


	10. Hope Radiates

**Disclaimer: **No. No, no, no, no, no, no. I don't own anything of Lord of the Rings, and I swear by the Valar, this statement is seriously damaging my self-esteem.

**A/N: **Here comes Gimli's perspective, and Gandalf's, and Eowyn's. No Aragorn here. Sorry to disappoint those who love him. I feel your pain.

**The Shadow of Death**

****

_Hope Radiates_

_But hope remains while company is true…_

Shards of the Lady of Light's foresight into the future suddenly rang in Gimli's mind. He could see her delicate outline, her knowing eyes, her young face that was still mature beyond compare. He had felt as if she truly understood him and accepted him for who he was, faults and all. She was an elf; he had expected the worst. His upbringing did not teach him to be kindly towards them; they were greedy and used their immortality for their own selfish acts. Yet he had met Lady Galadriel, spoken to her, become enraptured in her beauty and knowledge of all that was true and good. It was here, in Lothlorien, where his friendship with Legolas truly blossomed as well.

But now, as he sat alone in a once-bustling chamber, he felt like anything but true company. His friend was suffering alone while he did nothing about it…as if there was something he could do.

Had it been two months ago, he would have laughed at the idea of caring for an elf to the point of getting no sleep. In fact, he would have laughed at the idea of caring for an elf at all. 

Yet many things had changed.

The world was now a different place. The once peaceful and simple world Gimli knew before the Fellowship was formed had now collapsed and was in ruins. It was up to him and his friends to rebuild that world. That, of course was easier said than done. The Fellowship had been fractured. Boromir had fallen, Haldir passed on to the Halls of Mandos. And now Legolas was being consumed in Shadow.

_I give you the light of Earendil, the light of our most beloved star. May it be a light in dark places, when all other lights go out._

Gimli wished he had that light. He wished he could use that light to chide away the uncertain Shadows that consumed his dear friend. He wished he could use the light to destroy all of the Darkness that consumed the world, to use it as a beacon of hope to all that needed it. He wished he could use just a simple portion of that starlight to destroy Sauron, his followers….the One Ring.

But above all, he wished he could use the light to see the uncertain road that lay before himself and his companions.

~*~

Maybe he was wrong. Perhaps he shouldn't have told him…it could be possible that what he had told Legolas had started this whole predicament.

But Gandalf knew this wasn't true.

_He had to find out sooner or later. Perhaps his brother's story activated the dormant motivation in him,_ thought Gandalf. He only hoped this was the case.

He remembered when Thranduil told him about Emradril…he had been there when the King of Mirkwood was notified. It was many years ago, and Legolas was still a young elf at that time. Thranduil thought it better not to tell his son of his fallen brother, for he had always been protective of Legolas; the simple fact that his wife had died merely a couple years previous had almost killed the Elven King, leaving Legolas alone. Thranduil had not the heart nor the mind to want to bestow that kind of loss and sadness that had consumed himself. Or perhaps it was because Legolas was so much like Emradril to begin with: they had the same looks, the same skill in battle, the same rugged outlook on life…the same personality. And the latter was the one that scared Thranduil the most.

They both were determined, skillful, intelligent, and honorable elves. They both showed bravery on the battle field and dedication off of it. Thranduil had no troubles with trusting either of his sons with his own life. He loved them dearly, and was absolutely heartbroken when Legolas had left him to destroy the Evil Ring.

_Mind that elf, Gandalf old friend,_ Thranduil had written to him. _His heart is in the right place, but he has been sheltered. I am trusting you with the life of the one son that I have left._

Gandalf felt a rush of guilt hit him a tidal wave. Thranduil had given up his only son to his supervision. Had he failed him?

_There was nothing you could do,_ he thought to himself. _This vice is now Legolas's to overcome. You cannot say nor do anything to help. _

But somehow these thoughts did not reassure him to the extent that Gandalf had hoped. He still felt responsible, still felt inadequate to fight this long-sleeping Shadow that now showed itself in the young elf. It wasn't to say that he had not been protective of him or looked out for Legolas's welfare; nay, Gandalf had known Legolas his whole life. He thought of him as a son, and had tried to protect him as such.

_But I have failed…_

"Gandalf?" A delicate voice behind him interrupted his thoughts.

"Ah, my Lady Eowyn. How may I be of service?" asked he, turning around to face her. He could see strength and self-assurance in her posture, and this lifted his hopes if not slightly.

"My uncle requests your presence at a council," she said, "he has asked Lord Aragorn, Lord Gimli, and Lord Legolas to attend as well."

Gandalf was silent for a moment, contemplating whether or not to speak of Legolas's condition. He knew that the elf would not be able to attend the council, but what excuse did he have? He spoke, carefully choosing his words. "I do not believe Lord Legolas will be able to make an appearance."

"He is sick?" came the response. Gandalf narrowed his eyes; she seemed to have almost…_known.  
  
_

"In a manner of speaking."

"Is there anything I can do?"

Gandalf shook his head and looked as though he were about to respond, when he stopped himself. He stared curiously at her for a moment, his eyes narrowed, his arms crossed. An idea had just appeared in the back of his mind…an idea that could work, an idea that could save Legolas's life. He spoke deliberately yet cautiously as if not quite sure of the reliability of his idea, but quite positive that it could work.

"As a matter of fact…yes."

~*~

The apprehension she felt was beyond what she had ever encountered in her young life. Her heart pulsated blood so loudly in her ears that she was almost positive everyone else in Helm's Deep could hear it. She involuntarily shook slightly with both uncertainty and curiosity as she stared at the entrance to the chamber in which Legolas resided. The heavy doors were closed, as if locking out any gleam of happiness or hope to be found. They loomed ominously, almost as if they were taunting her, bidding her to enter but encouraging her to stay away. 

Yet Gandalf had not told her why. He had been very stingy with is explanations, saying that answers were not his to give. "I need you to share with him your pain," he said.

"My pain?"

"Yes. You must let him know that he suffers not alone. You have lost many of your people to this battle…and a friend." He added this last part with a finality as if to remind her of the importance of mentioning it. She looked up at him, shock in her eyes. _How had he known? she wondered silently to herself. _How had Gandalf known of him?__

She did not answer. Instead she felt dizzy, remembering all of her faithful people who had died at the hands of savage beasts….her friend who had unnaturally died a death that should never have happened…

"If you do not wish to do this, I understand."

Eowyn wished she could tell Gandalf she didn't want to. She knew she was still trying to recover from all of her own losses, and was not sure of the usefulness she could be to Legolas. How could she help him when she herself was in mourning? How could she take away his illness, when she herself had the ailing breath of mourning breathing down her neck? When she was silent, Gandalf decided to say just one more thing.

"The decision is yours to make," he reassured her, his voice calm, "but I must tell you this: his life may be dependent upon you."

"What?" she asked. But she had heard perfectly well: _his life may be dependent upon you. Her mind swirling in confusion, not knowing how in all possibility she could help Legolas, she vaguely heard Gandalf repeat himself. Eowyn knew she must do this. If it prevented more loss of life, she would suffer through the discomforts and distress that haunted her. _

Gandalf offered no explanation as to exactly how his life relied on her, but he did say, "You remember Legolas."

It was Eowyn's turn to nod. Legolas had been the handsome elf that had not left Aragorn nor Gimli's side after the battle. She had seen him follow his two friends around as if he were a silent body guard, ready to fend off an attacker at any moment. This had made her almost smile; she could tell the friendship Legolas felt for both Aragorn and Gimli was good and pure.

"I must warn you. He may look…different," added Gandalf, interrupting her reminiscence.

"Look different?" Eowyn repeated vaguely, now concentrating on the heavy closed doors in front of her.

"He may look sick, act more agitated, and suffer extreme mood changes. I do not believe he is dangerous yet…however, if the situation arises where you do not feel safe, I will stand with Aragorn outside of the chamber door. All you need to do is yell, and we will be by your side."

_Dangerous?__ thought Eowyn, growing more and more uncomfortable at each passing explanation. She felt her stomach tie in knots, her breathing become shallow, her eyesight loose its focus. _Dangerous…do not feel safe…need to do is yell… _Bits and pieces of Gandalf's advice ran through her head like a stampede of wild horses. Nevertheless, she nodded with more confidence than she felt._

Eowyn heard footsteps behind her and saw Aragorn, weary yet determined, walk towards them. He wore no sign of emotion on his face but looked curiously from Gandalf to herself, as if trying to discover an unspoken agreement. Yet as he grew nearer she saw him smile strangely yet warmly, and it seemed to envelop her in a sense of security. She knew no harm would come to her, for Aragorn would be there…

"Are you ready?" he whispered as she looked into his eyes. 

"Yes." Taking a deep breath, Eowyn walked inside of the chamber, knowing not what to expect…

_…his life may be dependent upon you…_

~*~

I told you, being evil is highly underrated. So the fact that I'm making you wait to hear from Legolas is purely for my sadistic enjoyment….don't worry. Next chapter reveals all! (well, maybe not _all, but it sounded better like that). _

Oh, and Elbereth forbid I brake the tradition at the end of each chapter by telling you to REVIEW. There, I said it.


	11. Shadows Emerge

**Disclaimer: **I only need one word here: NO.

**A/N: **Yep, a little POV change again…but don't worry, we'll see more of Legolas later in the chapter. Do you think the character's reactions are accurate? Yes? No? Please let me know.

**The Shadow of Death**

****

_Shadows Emerge_

The door closed heavily behind Eowyn, and Aragorn immediately turned to Gandalf, confusion and anger in his voice. "What is the reasoning behind this?"

Gandalf looked at him, expecting a reaction such as this from the Ranger. "The reasoning behind what?"

Aragorn shook his head slowly and cleared his throat. Gandalf could see he was trying to be very careful about what he said. "You have chosen someone who knows nothing of him."

Gandalf raised his eyebrows. "Do you feel as though you know Legolas well, then?"

"Better than most."

"You mean better than Eowyn."

"Yes, I do," retorted Aragorn. He hated when Gandalf questioned his reasoning, especially at times like these. Legolas had been like a brother to him throughout most of his life; why did Gandalf entrust Legolas's life to someone who knew nothing of him?

"Yet my question was not if you know Legolas better than Eowyn. My question was whether you knew Legolas _well_."

"Yes." Aragorn responded, perhaps a little too quickly. The patience in Gandalf's voice was uncomforting, and he felt Gandalf's burning gaze upon him. Aragorn hated to admit it, but he started to feel the sinking coldness of uncertainty invade his innards. Did he know Legolas as well as he thought he did? He was still trying to sort out the truths from the uncertainties when he heard Gandalf speak. 

"Yet you did not know of his relations to his brother."

Aragorn sighed, shoving his thoughts away. He ran a hand through his hair, and admitted to himself that Gandalf had a point, just as he always did. "This is true."

Nodding, Gandalf offered Aragorn a half-smile. "It seems as though we do not know as much about our friends as we think."

He did not respond, for fear of letting a snide comment slip of which he would regret later. His anger was swelling in his chest, anger at Gandalf for not trusting him to save his own best friend. The anger grew ever more, enlarging with each moment of passing silence in which neither said anything…

As if reading his mind, Gandalf looked at Aragorn and commented calmly, "Sometimes the people who we can relate to the most are those who we know the least."

When Aragorn still did not respond, Gandalf continued. "Do not feel guilty or troubled that you are unable to help Legolas. You care for him greatly, I know this. Yet as of now, you must put this issue aside and focus on other things. The council will be convening in a few minutes. I will stay here. I have informed Theoden that his niece and I might be tardy, yet he requested that you be as punctual as possible."

"I do not want to leave his side again," responded Aragorn quietly. The coldness now had dissipated into numbness, and he felt himself being slowly taken away from the problems at hand. His mind drifted away, and Aragorn decided it was because he could take no more loss of life, could cope with no more friends' deaths, could survive no more wary battles that only drew more blood of the very people he loved the most. He looked up into the Wizard's soft eyes, his own wide with hurt and pain. But Gandalf understood, and merely answered, clasping Aragorn on the shoulder.

"There is nothing you can do. You must go and offer your help where it is needed most."

~~~

Eowyn at first did not see anyone in the chamber. The sun was setting, shedding a beam of delicate golden light across the dank room as if enjoying its last moments in essence before it was swept away by the darkness of night. The beam branched out, creating shadows upon the wall and floor that seemed to dance and jitter jovially; for some reason, they made her shudder. Looking around, rooted to one place, she stood there, uncertain of what to do. A coldness crept over her, making goosebumps appear on her pale skin. She felt an eerie sense of foreboding, of wrought emotions that hung in the air. She had never been so exposed to such a feeling of lifelessness in her life, and for a minute she considered turning around and walking out, telling Gandalf that she could be of no assistance. But she heard the door shut behind her, and knew she was there for good.

There was no turning back.

"Lord Legolas?" Her voice echoed off of the walls.

No response.

"Lord Legolas, it is Eowyn."

Nothing except for her bated breath answered, echoing against hard stone.   
  


"Is anyone here?"

"Yes." The voice she heard did not sound like that of an elf's. It had a hoarse, croaky sound to it, as though the owner had a bad head cold. 

"Lord Legolas, it is –"

"I know who it is." Eowyn turned towards the direction of the voice. It seemed to be coming from the back left corner of the hall. Yet that corner was consumed in darkness, and she could see nothing.

"I have come to speak with you," added Eowyn, her heart pounding in her chest. She did not feel comfortable or safe, and had the innate urge to scream for Aragorn.

"Who sent you?" the voice asked. She heard shifting in the corner like a rustling of old and dusty pieces of parchment.

"No one," she lied tentatively, still squinting with desperation towards the corner. But still she saw nothing but blackness.

"Do not be untruthful, my Lady. My senses may be dulled but they are not completely gone."

She paused, uncertain of how to answer. She did not know Legolas's state of mind, nor did she know his intentions or lack thereof. "Gandalf suggested that I might be of some help to you," she said, figuring it best if she offered the truth.

A cold laugh resounded in the hall, making her shudder. "And how could you be of help to me?"  
  


"I know not. But if you would come out from the shadow-"

"I cannot, my Lady. The sun hurts me now." The voice was dripping with regret and sadness, two emotions that quickly overtook her anxiety and fear. She suddenly Eowyn felt her heart cry out to the ailing elf.

"Then I will come to you." 

Eowyn walked towards the voice, but stopped abruptly when Legolas said, "You will be frightened, my Lady, and I do not wish to scare you."

Taking a deep breath, Eowyn answered, "I can be of no help to you if I cannot speak with you face to face. If the sun hurts your eyes, then stand out of the light. But please, show your face to me."

She heard shuffling once again in the back left corner of the chamber again. And she saw a figure emerge from the shadows very slowly as if it were extremely painful to move. The way Legolas had been talking had frightened her, and she did not know what to expect. Her breath became shallow and anxious, her heart sped up, and she could feel her fingertips become numb. Frightening possibilities and everlasting horrifying images spilt themselves in her mind, but Eowyn refused to oblige to their untimely appearances. She had promised both Gandalf and Aragorn that she would help Legolas; and that was exactly what she was determined to do. 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of low breathing and fearful anticipation of the unknown, Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, emerged from the shadows, in full view.

She screamed.

~*~

Ohhhh, I am E.V.I.L. Sorry for the cliffhanger there, _mellonin_. It's to try and get you to REVIEW some more……the more reviews, the more I *remember* to write…..so review, review, review!


	12. Tinted Perspectives

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately, I own nothing of Lord of the Rings…..also unfortunately, I own that traitor Emradril. If you, for some ungodly reason, want to use him in your story, just ask.

"I'm not as bad as you think!"

"Oh, yes you are!"  
  


"Why don't you ask your readers what they think of me."

"Emradril, that's the best idea you've ever had."

Let me know what you think.

**A/N: **More sub-plots and different POVs. I hope you find them accurate and enjoyable. I always thought it important for a story to have more than one plot. If you disagree, lemme know.

**The Shadow of Death**

****

_Tinted Perspectives_

"We need scouts."

There were murmurs and ripples across the make-shift council chamber. Aragorn sat in the corner of the room, quietly observing the reactions of the Rohirrim. Some were obviously ready to hunt down the remaining Uruk-Hai; others were seemingly hesitant. Everybody was muttering to the person seated next to him, either shaking their heads or nodding in agreement. Aragorn had learned through his long years that patience and observation were two commodities that were beneficial in times like these. By offering neither his confirmation or dissent, he was playing politic, and waited tolerantly to hear more. Thus, Aragorn remained silent.

He had come to the swift conclusion that he had not the desire, nor was there the necessity, to join in the debate. Theoden wanted to send out four bands of scouts, one in each direction, to track down what was left of the Uruk-Hai and destroy them. It was an obvious attempt by the King of Rohan for revenge of those of his people who had been lost for eternity. 

And, quite candidly, Aragorn didn't like it at all.

As he sat through the Council, Aragorn had felt himself growing wary of revenge, wary of violence, wary of killing. He had been a Ranger and thought he had grown accustomed to this way of life. Apparently, he was wrong. He saw what the desire of revenge did to Legolas. And even though Aragorn was not an elf, he had seen _men destroy themselves in search for complacency after a tragedy. Despair was an equal-opportunity employer; it knew no boundaries. Aragorn was no stranger to despair, but he had come to the decision that despair could not become a trusted companion, no matter how long it has traveled with you._

"This is ridiculous! We do not need scouts, we need to worry about our wounded and our people in mourning," said a young man with red hair from the corner. Aragorn was instantly reminded of Boromir.

"If we do not send out scouts to annihilate the Uruk-Hai, then there might be _more wounded and mourning when they form a counter-attack," said Theoden, rising to his feet. _

The man with the red hair shook his head. "This is madness."

"Madness, you say? _Madness?I will tell you what madness is. Over 1,000 souls are dead. __This is madness. And I am not prepared to take any chances in losing any more of my people!" Theoden seemed to be losing his touch on his usually calm persona. Aragorn knew what it was like to lose men you were in command of; being an Ranger did not come without consequences. But more recently, he had felt the same guilt as Theoden was now experiencing when Boromir had died._

"Yes; over 1,000 souls are now no longer living. This is exactly the reason why we should not form an offensive," countered the red-haired man, also rising to his feet. "There is no reason to – "

"I would like to remind you, Halinor, who is King," Theoden interrupted with a clenched jaw. 

Halinor saw the danger in countering Theoden, and bowed slightly if not stiffly. "Forgive me, my Lord." And Aragorn noticed with slight interest that the man seemed neither submissive nor sorry that he had presented his argument he so vehemently believed in.

Theoden looked towards the corner in which Aragorn sat. "Lord Aragorn, you have been quiet."

Aragorn wished that the King had not drawn attention to him. Everybody now turned, some in surprise, to see him, a quiet human sitting in the corner, keeping to himself. Everyone lapsed into complete silence, and Aragorn knew they were waiting for him to speak.

"Forgive me, King Theoden."

"All is forgiven, for there is nothing to forgive," responded Theoden. "But I would be honored to know what your opinion is on this matter."

Aragorn did not know what to say. On one hand, he thought that the King had good reason. He knew that the Uruk-Hai had no fear of death, and that they would not hesitate to attack. However, he saw the man named Halinor's point; Aragorn was not in the mood to see any more souls die, and personally, he did not know if he could, both physically and mentally, lead a group of men in a blind attempt to gain revenge. 

He sighed. "I simply do not know, your Highness," answered Aragorn with a troubled heart. "I am split on this matter. Yet if it is your decision to form bands of scouts, then it would be my honor to be of assistance."

Theoden nodded. "Good. We will send out scouts in the first light of the morning." 

~*~

Gimli did not attend the Council. In fact, he was presently repulsed by the race of man at the moment. He knew that the King would want to form an offensive and wipe out the fractured Uruk-Hai army. He knew that there would undoubtedly be more slaughtering, more killing, more violence.

And Gimli was glad.

Never in his life had Gimli been so full of rage. Sauron and his puppet Saruman had caused the deaths of countless souls. They had changed the once peaceful Middle Earth into a swirling land of blood. They had forced the Nine of the Fellowship to abandon their sylvan lives and to go on a journey that might end in failure. Boromir was killed, Merry and Pippin were kidnapped, and Frodo and Sam were now heading for the throws of Mordor. 

And now Legolas was falling into Shadow.

But he was disgusted at men nonetheless. Out of all of the creatures in middle earth, men simply didn't know when to fight for a cause. They would fight over land, over money, and over women. But apparently some of them didn't want to fight to avenge their dead. Men needed their priorities checked. They were so full of greed that sometimes Gimli wanted nothing to do with them. Of course, he was a Dwarf, and Dwarves weren't exactly the most charitable race. But men were different. Men were cowards when war is being waged, and brave when there was no war to be fought.

He once thought this of the elves, but the elves were indeed different. Hundreds of archers from Lothlorien had come to fight in a battle for a land that would soon no longer be theirs. They were sailing West, to the Undying Lands, and could have simply washed their hands of this entire matter. But they didn't. And that made Gimli admire them greatly. 

But out of the race of men, there was one he did admire: Aragorn. Raised by the elves, he knew no greed, he knew no evil. All he knew was honor. If a companion was in great need, Aragorn would be the first to arrive. He was selfless, and an innate leader. He was exactly what the race of men needed, war or no war. Yet now there was a war to be fought. Just because the Uruk-Hai had retreated doesn't mean that the war was over. The war had just begun. 

And Gimli was ready to fight it.

~*~

Wow…I just realized I created another character….Halinor! Let's hear it for Halinor! For some reason I was picturing Boromir in my mind….no idea why, so don't ask. I feel a little better knowing that I at least created a character who _didn't_ betray his own people.

"Stop it!"

"Stuff it, traitor. I'm trying to get the readers to review….so you can know what they think of you."

**HINT HINT**


	13. First Light

**Disclaimer: **Now I can officially say I own both Emradril and Halinor. Wow, do I feel special….now if only I could own Legolas. (*sigh*) But still…..no Lord of the Rings copyright belongs to me. *grumbles*

**A/N: **Alright, it's the chapter you've all been waiting for. What does Legolas look like? Sorry for all of you who feel faint with passion every time you see Legolas on screen. This may upset you.

**The Shadow of Death**

****

_First Light_

Eowyn felt foolish. Extremely foolish. It was not like her to scream in fear. Yet the sight of Legolas had truly petrified her to the point where she reacted in a way that was extremely unlike herself...and it takes a lot to scare a Shield Maiden. 

She had expected the elf to look different. Gandalf had warned her, and she felt she had prepared herself for anything. But nothing could have prepared her for this.

Eowyn figured that Legolas would look tired, worn out, perhaps a little agitated at most. She figured that Gandalf was exaggerating, and that he stretched the truth in order to get her to try to help the elven prince. How foolish she was to believe Gandalf would lie about _anything_…especially this. But nothing the White Wizard could have told Eowyn would have been able to help Eowyn understand what exactly Legolas was going through. 

Tearing herself from her thoughts, Eowyn made herself focus on the present. She realized her eyes were wide, and her hands were still covering her gaping mouth. The last thing Eowyn wanted to do was offend the elf in any way. But she could simply not help it.

Legolas was turning into an orc. That is, if he was not one already. 

She could see no resemblance to Legolas in the creature's face. She had seen orcs close up before, and knew what they looked like. And this one looked no different from the rest of them. The Prince's once perfectly groomed hair had almost all fallen out, and was replaced with matted, knotty and stringy black tresses. His posture had failed him, for he now hunched over, his once regal stature reduced to nothing but a decrepit cripple. His once strikingly handsome features that had taken Eowyn's breath away were all but gone. His eyes were now a muddy black, his skin a sickly green color. Yet Eowyn saw that Legolas's face donned a look of self-loathing. 

"Forgive me, my Lady. I knew I would frighten you." Legolas lowered his head to look at the stone floor upon which he stood, and Eowyn noticed that the only physicality that Legolas still shared with his former self was his pointy ears.

"Oh, Legolas," Eowyn whispered, a feeling of pity engulfing her like a tidal wave. She quickly closed her open mouth and took her hands down to her sides. Her initial shock was over; it was time she started acting like the fearless woman she had grown to be. "What has happened?"

Legolas peered at her. "Has Gandalf told you nothing?"

"Aye. He seemed rather tight-lipped…I don't think he wanted to explain anything to me…"

Legolas continued to look at her. Her beauty was a source of great comfort to him in these ugly times. Yet he pondered why Gandalf had not told her of his condition. He knew there was a reason, so he decided not to explain himself to her either. Legolas suddenly got the distinct impression that Gandalf wanted to take the focus off of him, and somehow transport it onto Eowyn. Thus, he nodded. "He has his reasons."

"Will you not explain your ailment to me, my Lord?"

Legolas was amused almost to the point of smiling. The race of men were awfully particular about being polite, make no mistake. In his deteriorating and appalling condition, Legolas was amused that she would still address him as 'my Lord'. _Only the race of man, who kill each other guiltlessly, would ever be concerned about civility…_

"Please, my Lady, call me Legolas."

"I shall call you Legolas as soon as you stop calling me 'my Lady'."

Legolas bowed his head, smiling inwardly. "Point well taken, Eowyn."

"Thank you, Legolas," replied Eowyn. Her tension was easing, and she felt safer knowing that even though the Prince of Mirkwood was no longer elf in physical form, his personality had not floundered. There was a pregnant pause and Eowyn looked into his eyes and noticed that they gazed into the near distance. She turned to follow his gaze and notice that it rested upon a fallen elf, lying perhaps only five meters away. As her eyes looked at the elf, a rush of emotion seethed into her veins, and she had to restrain herself from crying out. 

"You knew him?" Eowyn asked instead, a strange breathlessness in her voice. Legolas thought he heard her voice drowned in mourning, but he could not trust his deteriorating senses.

"Aye." His gaze did not falter.

"How?"

"I do not wish to speak of it."

She narrowed her eyes. "Perhaps it will help."  
  


"No."

"You will not know unless you-"

"Eowyn, stop." Legolas's voice sounded tense, if not a little edgy. Deciding not to risk putting Legolas ill at ease, she did not pursue the issue. Yet she wondered why he refused to speak of the dead. Perhaps it grieved him to do so. _But that's entirely unlike the traditions of his people…_

"All of us grieve, Legolas," Eowyn spoke in a soothing voice. 

"Yet men are more accustomed to grief than elves. My race is not meant to die."

"Aye; you are not meant to die. But what good is immortality if you refuse to live?" 

This question took Legolas by surprise. Perhaps it was the fact that it was asked so boldly from one who knew very little of elves. Or maybe it was because he was not used to being questioned in this manner by anyone apart from Aragorn. 

Or maybe it was because she had a point. 

"I do not understand," he quietly responded, studying her with the utmost curiosity but with cautious interest.

"Yes, you do. You know exactly of what I speak." Again, her bold tone and unending emphasis on his apparent faults made a bubbling anger rise in his gut.

"You know naught of what I am going through, Eowyn," Legolas responded, trying desperately to contain his emotions, of which he had been losing control of lately.

"You think I know nothing of grieving?" It was Eowyn's turn to become annoyed. "Lest you forget, Legolas, I have lost half of my people to this war."

"But men are mortal …. they die."

"And elves are _immortal_…they live! So why do you refuse to?" Eowyn heard her voice rise and felt her body becoming tense. She knew she had lost control of her anger, yet she could not help it. Legolas simply didn't understand…he thought he was the only one grieving…he had no idea…

"How did you draw the conclusion that I refuse to live?" countered Legolas.

"From the way you have been acting! Look around you! You surround yourself with your dead brethren. Legolas, you have locked yourself up in a tomb and refuse to leave."

Legolas did not respond, for he did not trust himself. He had suddenly became angry that this woman, this _mortal, had the nerve to speak to him about the ways of life. What did she know about elves? What did she know about the Shadow consuming his heart, eating away at his soul that wouldn't rest until he became nothing more than an ugly and loathed shell of what he once was? _

Eowyn sighed and sat down upon a huge stone block. She folded her hands in her lap and lowered her head. She looked exhausted and frustrated. Yet to Legolas's surprise, she spoke. 

"My friend was lost in the battle for Helm's Deep." Eowyn started without prelude and without warning. Legolas felt his muscles ease and his mind clear ever so slightly. He had been aware of Rohan's losses…but from the way she spoke, he knew this friend meant a lot more than an acquaintance.

"I am sorry, Eowyn."

"As am I."

A heavy silence fell upon them until Legolas broke it. "How did you know him?"

"I have known him since I was a child. He was an ambassador from his people. He would always come to Rohan and bring flowers from his home for me…they were white and pink."

 A smile crept across her face at the reminiscence of a memory long forgotten. She paused, and he waited for her to continue. "They were beautiful. And he would always remember, Legolas. No matter how busy he was, or how often he would visit, he always brought me flowers. I remember him telling me: _ 'Eowyn, these flowers will wilt in the winter. But do not be deceived by appearances; they will suddenly bloom again around the spring. But you must nurture them, for if you don't, they will remain wilted forever.'"_

She paused, and Legolas knew it was painful for her to speak of him. She turned to look at him, and he saw tears brimming on her beautiful, clear eyes. "I still have those flowers, Legolas. I have cultivated and cherished them, just like he told me to."

Legolas had heard of these re-living flowers before. Yet they were extremely uncommon…and were mostly known in the woods of Lorien. He wondered who this man she spoke of was. But he remained silent. "Those flowers could not have survived alone, Legolas. Nothing can survive alone. Not you, not me, not anyone. Even Sauron needs the One Ring to survive. And this is the lesson that a few flowers from an old friend have taught me."

Legolas thought carefully over his words before he spoke them. "Who was this messenger?"

Eowyn looked up into Legolas's eyes as her own gave birth to a stream of tears. "His name was Haldir." 

~*~

Oooooh! What a twist! Who was expecting _that_ piece of information???? If you honestly did, I'll give you twenty points….because that's pretty impressive.   
  
"I could've guessed it."

"Shut up, Emradril."

"No….I guessed it first."

"Oh, congrats Halinor! Here: twenty points."

"Thanks!"

"HEY!"

"Go and sulk in the corner, Emradril, while I figure out what to do with you."

Wow….definately feeling evil.


	14. A Glimmer of Hope

**Disclaimer: **Halinor and Emradril are mine. Everyone else is not. Surprise, surprise. 0 points to all who saw _that_ coming.

**A/N: **To all of you Aragorn lovers: this is your chapter! I felt the need to incorporate his feelings in this story too….after all, he's Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Isildur's Heir and Heir to the Throne of Gondor. *Gasps for breath* How'd you like _that for a title?_

**The Shadow of Death**

****

_A Glimmer of Promise_

_He could smell her. He could taste her. He could see her delicate outline, her raven black hair, her perfectly smooth skin._

_  
Yet he couldn't touch her… _

_And she couldn't hear him…_

_She lay on her bed with her back to him. He could hear her ragged breathing, her sobs and her tears. He told her not to let her heart be troubled; he could not stand to see her like this…he begged her, pleaded with her to go with her people. He told her she didn't belong in Middle Earth. He told her he only wanted her to be happy, that nothing else mattered to him. He told her he loved her more than life itself. Yet she could not hear him, and answer she did not._

_ This angered him greatly._

_He screamed at her…he figured that if he hurt her, she would go West. Perhaps this is why he told her he didn't love her, that he wanted her to leave. He told her their love had been a mistake, that he didn't belong with her…and she didn't belong with him. He shouted and repeated what her father had said: she was an elf, one who deserved immortality. He was a man, one who deserved mortality…_

_…nonetheless, even as he spoke these words, he knew they were counterfeit._

_Suddenly, he felt guilt submerge him. He reached out for her, longing to hold her, to tell her he loved her, that he was sorry, that he only thought of her happiness. But he was restrained. An invisible chain was holding him back, letting him only within a mere foot of her. He struggled until his muscles could contract no longer. He screamed to get her attention until his throat was dry._

_  
All of to no avail._

_He could not hold her. He could not tell her all of the things he longed to say. And this was destroying him._

"Ridiculous! Absolutely ridiculous."

Aragorn was awakened from his troubling dream by a voice echoing in the hallway to his right. He was both happy and downcast to be awakened from his slumber; she looked so real, so tangible. He closed his eyes again, in hopes of retaining her beautiful face in his mind for as long as possible. But the attempt became futile when Halinor, the man with red hair, walked into the chamber. He was followed by Eomer and another man whom Aragorn did not recognize. They seemed to be hotly debating, and Aragorn was in no mood to hear this. He had enough on his mind; he did not need to listen to the troubles of others as well. 

He sat up in the chair upon which he had fallen asleep. His back felt stiff, his mouth was dry, and his eyes stung. Yet he longed to be away from the debate, and stood up quickly, feeling slightly dizzy. He took no heed, and began to walk as swiftly and unnoticeably from the chamber as possible. 

"Aragorn!" shouted Eomer suddenly. Aragorn suppressed a groan emanating from his throat and stopped in his tracks. He turned around to face the men. 

"Eomer," he nodded graciously, looking towards the exit in hopes of making a swift escape if it were possible.

"Will you be joining us?" he asked, walking towards him. "Will you be part of the band of scouts to hunt down and destroy these bastards of Mordor?" 

Aragorn could sense the anger in Eomer's voice, the fiery anxiousness in his soul. He sounded and looked much like his uncle had just hours before. Aragorn sighed, but answered, "Yes. If the King of Rohan is in need of my assistance, I will not hesitate to be of service to him."

A satisfactory smile crossed Eomer's face. "Do you see? Isildur's Heir agrees with my uncle. A pity that you two do not."

The reactions that this simple sentence drew were remarkable. Halinor's mouth dropped open, and the other man took a step back, as if trying to prevent himself from falling over. Aragorn knew that Eomer called him "Isildur's Heir" to get his point across. Yet he was slightly angered at his name being in the same sentence as his ancestor's. He was ashamed of his relation to that man, especially since Isildur's folly had been responsible for the death of so many…including many of Rohan's own people.

"Aye, I do agree. Yet I must admit, Eomer, I grow tired of killing." Aragorn felt the need to say something to break the uneasy silence that had surrounded them.

"You grow tired of killing? Well, lest you are not aware, I must explain to you. These beasts _never_ grow tired of killing. They will never eat, they will never sleep, and they will never stop until they obtain their goal. And that goal is to destroy us." Eomer jabbed a finger into his own chest, emphasizing his last statement. 

"I know what the Uruk-Hai are capable of, Eomer. I know what they are and where they came from…you need not explain to me. However, if your uncle feels it necessary to track them down and destroy them, I support his decision fully. I shall see you at daybreak the following morn." Aragorn nodded at Eomer, at Halinor and at the other man. He turned on his heels and walked quickly out of the chamber, away from the now confused and speechless men.

He grew weary of the act of vengeance. And he was sure if these men saw Legolas at this moment, they would understand why.

~~~

"I'm hungry."

"Stop it, Gimli. You sound like Peregrin."

Peregrin. Gandalf never thought he could miss that fool of a Took. A clumsy, naïve, and at times an annoying Hobbit who seemed to refuse to use his brain under any circumstance. He would complain, sing irritating songs, and talk nonsense for sometimes countless consecutive hours while the now splintered Fellowship tried their best not to strangle him.

But Gandalf missed him greatly. They were all in need of  Peregrin Took right now; a good laugh would do some good. There was not much to be joyous about during these troubled times, but Gandalf was certain that Peregrin would find something to jest at.

"You dare compare me to a Hobbit?" Gimli sat on the ground, his back up against the wall of a side chamber. Ever since the Wizard got a new robe, a new hair style, and a new staff, he had been thinking pretty highly of himself, in Gimli's opinion.

"I thought you would take that as a compliment."

"Aye…I do." 

Gimli's answer startled Gandalf so much that he looked down upon the Dwarf. Hobbits and dwarves were not enemies by any means, but that hardly meant that they were friendly. The Dwarves never thought highly of any race but their own, and Gimli was no exception. To hear him speak these words was surprising, if not unnerving for a moment.

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why? Aren't you the All-Knowing White Wizard?"

"I am being serious, Gimli. Why do you answer in that way?"

Gimli seemed to be embarrassed that Gandalf had noticed his unusual response. "My opinions of Hobbits have changed. For it could possibly be due to the bravery of two Hobbits that Middle Earth in its entirety will be saved."

Gandalf smiled despite himself. Gimli noticed this, and snorted. "Do not think I am becoming soft-hearted, your White Wizardness. I am still a Dwarf, and a proud one at that!" He stood up and picked up his axe that was previously laying next to him. "If you will excuse me, Gandalf, I feel the need to get some fresh air."

"You are not _shamed_ about admiring Hobbits, are you, my friend?" asked Gandalf, becoming amused.

Gimli grunted. "Of course not." He walked out of the chamber, mumbling almost indecisively about not becoming stout hearted. Gandalf found himself wondering how, in the future, this War of the Ring would affect all races who had fought it. _Perhaps it will bring peace, _thought Gandalf. But when he thought of Gimli's temper, he rescinded his idea. _Perhaps not…_

Gandalf suddenly felt the need for fresh air as well. It was still overcast outside. _Of no matter.__ Anything is better than being stuck in this forsaken fort,_ he thought to himself. As he reached for his staff, he heard footsteps approach the doorway.

Aragorn appeared before Gandalf, but seemed surprised to find the White Wizard in the chamber. He had been looking for a place to be alone with his thoughts, but obviously this place was occupied.

"Hello, Estel."

Aragorn flinched at the mentioning of his elvish name. He had not heard it in what seemed like eternity.

"Hello, Mithrandir."

"You have come to search for solitude?"

"Aye."  
  


"Your search shall prove successful. I was just about to leave. I find that these stones can make one quite claustrophobic." Gandalf eyes sparkled, and Aragorn almost smiled. It was good to have Gandalf back, even if he had changed somewhat.

Aragorn nodded, but felt the urge to ask him a question. "Gandalf…how is Legolas?"

He sighed, and set aside his staff. "That, my friend, I do not know."

He frowned. "Why not?"

"That is all up to Eowyn. If she succeeds, as I pray to the Valar she will, then Legolas will be saved. If she fails…." Gandalf let his words trail off, afraid of speaking the last words.

"If she succeeds at what, Mithrandir?" Aragorn was growing wary of the lack of news in regards to Legolas. "Why won't you tell me? I must know what Eowyn can do to save Legolas that I am unable to!" 

Gandalf gently nodded his head, as if he knew exactly what Aragorn was thinking. "I know you are troubled by my apparent randomness in selecting Eowyn to do such an important job. However, I do have my reasons, Estel."

"Then tell me them."

Gandalf considered his proposition. He did not want to let Aragorn know the grave dangers that faced his friend, but the imagination could be far worse than the reality, and he decided Aragorn had the right to know.

"Legolas grieves for all of the elven dead. Yet he grieves for one in particular."

"Haldir."

Gandalf nodded. "Yes, Haldir. Legolas had known him for quite a while, and they shared a lot in common. As you know, Haldir was older than Legolas, and Legolas looked up to him greatly. He admired his calmness, his bravery, his skill. Woodland Elves have been taught that if one does everything right, obeys the laws of the land, shows extreme bravery in battle, and is a loyal friend, one would be rewarded. They have been taught this their whole lives, Estel. It is a horrible falsehood, and Legolas learned of this teaching's folly in only two day's time."

Aragorn had never known this teaching, for he grew up in Rivendell. He thought Legolas would have been accustomed to death, for he was from Mirkwood, a land that was constantly under attack by the orcs. But his mind was brought back to the conversation at hand when he realized his question had not been answered.

"This still doesn't explain why Eowyn can help Legolas more than I."  

"Eowyn knew Haldir."

This statement took Aragorn a while to process. "_What?How?"_

"When Rohan and Lothlorien were allies, he acted as ambassador. Eowyn being the niece of the King would often see Haldir come to their kingdom. They took an innocent liking to each other when Eowyn was a small girl. Thus, they share a common bond in losing a great friend."

Aragorn felt suddenly dejected. "I lost a friend as well, Gandalf. Haldir died in _my arms, not in Eowyn's. I share the same grief as them both."_

Gandalf nodded. "Yes. But have you lost your fellow brethren from Gondor to this battle?"

"No, but-"

"Do you remember how you felt when Boromir died?"

The mention of Boromir's name left a sickening feeling in his stomach, a pain in his heart. "How could I forget it?" he responded in a voice barely above a whisper.

"That was only one of your brethren from Gondor. Multiply it by six hundred, and you will encounter the emotion of loss that both Legolas and Eowyn feel."  

Aragorn winced. He had been accustomed to loss; years as a Ranger had taken their toll. But he realized, feeling strangely lucky, that he had never had his people slaughtered. He only now realized, with Gandalf's guidance, how painful this battle must have been for both of them Boromir's death was something he was still trying to cope with…something he would be dealing with for a long time. Suddenly, he felt extremely foolish that merely minutes ago he was brooding about not being chosen to help Legolas. Now, all of his emotions and feelings of aggravating rejection gave way to a feeling of pity for both the people of Rohan, and Legolas. 

"This is why, Estel, you cannot blame Theoden, nor Eomer, nor Legolas for their fantasies of vengeance."

Aragorn nodded. He swiped a hand through his dark brown hair and felt a sickening sense of shame and ignorance float through his mind. 

Gandalf put a warm hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze. "This is why I chose Eowyn. She is accepting Healing, and has lost just as many kinsmen at Helm's Deep, just as Legolas has. This is their common bond. If Eowyn can survive mourning, then so can Legolas. This, I hope, will bring him back to us."

Aragorn asked, "Will he come back to us?"

"One can only hope, Estel. One can only hope."

~*~

Thanks to all of the reviewers….gosh, I just noticed that I currently have 62 reviews! Thanks!

"It's because they love me."

"No, Emradril, they love ME."

Do you see what I have to go through because you won't give me your input on Halinor or Emradril? REVIEW to put me out of this misery. I'm begging you.


	15. Sunlight

**Disclaimer: **I'm running out of witty and sarcastic things to say here. So here it is, folks: I don't own  Lord of the Rings. But I do own Halinor and Emradril….not bad, not bad.

**A/N: **This is another memory of Legolas. I felt it important to include in order to give some background on Legolas's memories and life. It also includes *symbolism*….and I keep my promise as before…another 15 points will be rewarded to the reviewer with the correct guess at my use of symbolism. What will these 15 points do? That can be discussed…..

**The Shadow of Death**

****

_Sunlight_

_"Hurry up!"_

_"Where are you going? Come on, stop! This tree is hard to climb!"_

_"Hard to climb?__ And you call yourself the Prince of Mirkwood."_

_"Shut up!"_

_He heard his friend laugh, then say in a mocking tone, "Come and make me, then, your Highness!"_

_Legolas__ gritted his teeth together and pulled himself up. Branch after branch after branch he conquered, ignoring the newly found pain of exhaustion. He was not quite used to climbing these tall trees yet, but Legolas was not about to let his friend show him up, even though he was about two thousand years older than he._

_His heart thudded in his chest, and he cried out in surprise and discomfiture as remnants of falling bark invaded his eyes. He paused on the branch he was on, crouching low to keep his balance. He blinked a couple of times, then wiped them on his sleeve. Most of the debris was gone...but he had wasted valuable time. He began to climb the tree again, not willing to accept the fact that if he lost this race, his ego would be permanently damaged…mostly due to the fact that his friend would never let him forget it. Unfortunately the bark was slippery; it had rained that morning, as it did most mornings in the Mirkwood Realm. However, Legolas could not be bothered with a few wet boughs. He needed to beat his friend to the top, and he needed to climb faster._

_Suddenly, Legolas heard a cracking sound. The branch he was holding onto began to give way. Panic stricken, he looked frantically around for another branch to jump on to. But there was no other branch but the one he was holding on to; the others were too flimsy to hold his weight...and this branch was breaking._

_Abruptly, the Prince of Mirkwood felt himself falling towards the forest floor. He flailed helplessly, hoping to grab onto something, anything, that would break his fall…_

_…Legolas hit the ground with a sickening thud, and he knew no more._

_~*~_

_Whispers._

_Gasps.___

_Hands._

_Darkness._

_Light._

_Cold._

_Warmth.___

_Legolas__ flickered in and out of consciousness. His head throbbed, his back ached, his eyes stung. He felt as if he had been run over by a horse. _

_He coughed. Bad idea._

_Now his chest hurt. His throat was dry and sore, but luckily he felt a strong and reassuring hand lift his lips to meet a bowl of water. He was eternally grateful to this unknown person, but he had not the strength to thank him. _

_"He is awake."_

_"Are you to be sure?"_

_"Yes."_

_The murmured voices seemed to be spoken miles away, for his ears were still ringing in tune with the aching in his skull. He recognized the second voice to be that of his father; the other one he was not so familiar with. Eventually, curiosity overcame his pain as he opened his eyes to see his father, standing to the left, speaking with a Healer. Neither of them noticed they were being watched._

_"What are his injuries?"_

_"None that are not repairable. He has suffered three broken ribs, a fractured wrist, and some serious bruises and cuts."_

_"The most serious bruise will be upon his pride," responded Thranduil, crossing his arms. He knew how prideful his son happened to be. The Healer had no answer, and Thranduil dismissed him. It was then that he noticed his son's curious eyes upon him. He approached the bed upon which Legolas lay._

_Expecting to be reprimanded, Legolas took a sharp intake of breath. His ribs didn't take well to that action, and began to ache horribly._

_But surprisingly, he noticed a small smile creep across his father's face._

_"So, you have fallen."_

_"I slipped," corrected Legolas, coughing. Another bad idea._

_His father chuckled. "Exactly as I said: you fell."_

_Legolas__ did not respond. His once full self-image had now been sliced and tattered. He did not need his father's belittlement._

_"Legolas, my son, do not be upset. Everyone falls."_

_"I shouldn't have fallen," he responded shortly, in no mood to discuss the events that had transpired._

_Thranduil's__ eyes twinkled in amusement. "But Legolas, everyone falls. It is a given."_

_"I shouldn't have fallen," he repeated, turning his head to stare at the ceiling. Elbereth, even his neck hurt._

_"It is terrible of how much you remind me of myself," his father said. Legolas turned to look at him, disregarding another sharp pain in his neck, as he continued. "I was upset when I fell as well."_

_Unable  to__ comprehend his regal and king-like father had ever had any faults whatsoever, he struggled into a sitting position. This made his entire body burn and scream in anguish, but he ignored it. He couldn't afford to injure his pride any more than it already had been._

_"Don't look so shocked, Legolas. Everybody falls."_

_"You mean I'm not simply  inept?" Legolas was still skeptical._

_Thranduil__ shook his head gently. "No elf is untalented as a tree-climber; climbing trees is an inherent feature. Nature runs through our blood, pulsates through our veins. Yet, as with everything else, we make mistakes, Legolas, and you have to come to the realization that you will make them too."_

_"You aren't ashamed?" Legolas muttered under his breath. His father did not take kindly to damaging his image as a just, courageous, and powerful Elf-King._

_His father shook his head once more and chuckled. "Oh, Legolas, of course not. I don't blame people, especially my son, for their mistakes. But I do ask that they correct them."_

_"Correct them how?"_

_Thranduil__ put a hand on Legolas's head. "That, my son, is for you to decide."_

_~*~_

_Legoals__ let his father's previous statement churn in his head for a while. He had fallen, an irrevocable mistake. How was he to correct a done deed?_

_"I hope you're not thinking too hard, _mellonin. _Your brain might be the only part of you that still remains intact after a fall like that."_

_A smile spread across Legolas's face as he looked to his friend in the doorway. _

_"Nice of you to visit me, considering this is your entire fault." _

_"Is it, now?"_

_"Oh, absolutely."___

_"Forgive me, your Highness," he responded, bowing extravagantly, " but I seem to remember _you _falling from the branch, not I."_

_Legolas__ sighed. "You win."_

_"But of course. You think a Mirkwood Elf could ever show- up an elf of Lothlorien?"_

_Legolas__ laughed. "That is all too easy, my friend."_

_The other smiled. "Ahh, then we shall see. When you recover, we shall see."_

_~~~_

_Yet recovery did not come as quickly to the young prince as was hoped. It took three months for Legolas to fully recover his strength. The Healers worked with him every day for four hours. He had been bedridden for at least three weeks, and the pain had been excruciating. It would come in waves that engulfed him. He found himself screaming for the pain to stop. He would break into hot sweats and cold sweats, each alternating and never stopping. His sleep never went uninterrupted with pain, his dreams haunted by the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach consistent with falling._

_He reprimanded himself for ever biting onto his friend's bait. He never blamed his friend, for his fall was no one's fault but his own. But when the pain was eminent, and the burning hotter than the surface of the sun itself, he had promised himself that he would never climb a tree again._

_Ever.___

_So when those arduous and trying three months finally came to pass, and Legolas found himself deep in Mirkwood staring up at that very same tree from which he fell, hesitancy and trepidation swept through his body. _

_"_Mellonin, ma naa ta?" _asked his friend._

_But Legolas only shook his head. "I cannot do this."_

_"What?"_

_"I cannot do this. It is too high."_

_His friend snorted playfully. "Are you being cowardly?"_

_Legolas's__ eyes shot daggers towards the other elf. "I do not wish to spend another three months bedridden with piercing pain."_

_Noticing his friend's ill ease, the friend put a friendly hand on his shoulder. "_Mellonin_, everybody falls."_

_Legolas__ responded in an exasperated tone, "Aye…you sound like my father."_

_His friend ignored his remark. "The only thing that differentiates the triumphant from the fruitless is how you overcome your failure." Legolas turned to him, his eyes narrowed in thought. His friend continued, "Will your pick yourself up, Prince of Mirkwood? Or remain distressed and in pain on the forest floor?"_

_Legolas__ tore his eyes away from his  face to look up at the tree. He saw the branch from where he fell; a good fifty meters from the ground. It lay broken and splintered, and Legolas's heart felt heavy._

_"I have hurt the tree."_

_"Aye, you may have damaged it," agreed his friend, nodding gently. "But just one branch is damaged. The tree does not wither up and die because of one broken branch. It repairs itself."_

_Legolas__ grinned inwardly. His friend was right, however unwilling he was to admit it. He approached the tree, and to his friend's surprise, asked, "Are you going to stand there gawking? Or am I going to beat the all-mighty Elf of Lothlorien?"_

_His friend, still unsure, approached the tree, peering incredulously at Legolas. "Marks, set... GO!" he shouted, and up they climbed._

_Legolas__ thought not about the pain he had so recently endured. He thought not about the three months of being bedridden. The thoughts of his blemished pride and his insecurities were not present. All Legolas thought about was the pure joy he felt in climbing. He concentrated on the wind rushing through his hair. He fixed his thoughts upon the dank smell of the forest, the floral scent that invigorated him. He felt the pulsating life of the tree beneath his fingertips. These thoughts made him climb faster, his grasp growing steadier and his strength growing more confident._

_Perhaps it was because he was more prudent climbing the tree this time. Or maybe it was because the branches weren't wet. It could also have been his determination. _

_But whatever the reason was, Legolas reached the top first._

_He broke through the tree-top canopy of the forest, and looked around. Sunlight shone on his golden-blonde hair. He felt less claustrophobic, freer and livelier. His heart pounded but his breath was only slightly heavier than it would have been if he had only gone for a short walk. He smiled, inhaling deeply and stretching his arms towards the heavens. He had made it…he had won…_

_ Only a few seconds later, he heard a rustling, and saw his friend emerge from beneath him._

_"Well, _mellonin, _I was wrong," he grinned up at the Prince of Mirkwood, rising to his feet. "What exactly did those Healers give you? Perhaps I should ask for some…"_

_Legolas__ laughed, and clapped his friend on the back. "They gave me nothing, my friend. Just admit it: I beat you fairly. Come on, admit it," he grinned, as his friend shot him a disparaging look. He knew his friend didn't take loss well, but Legolas also knew that he was inwardly happy for him._

_In response, his friend sighed. "Alright, your _Highness,_" he said, bowing obscenely low  to Legolas. "What is your command?"_

_Legolas__ looked at his friend, grinning, the warm rays of the sun illuminating his face. "Well, Haldir, you can start by doing my chores."_

~*~

What do you think? Realistic? Heart-warming? Cute? I awarded all of my faithful reviewers with a long chapter. I hope you guys enjoyed it! I haven't been getting many reviews lately, and its starting to dishearten me…._plus_ I have to hear the incessant arguing of Halinor and Emradril. So for the sake of my sanity…please review

"I can see farther, run faster, and think quicker than any human! I'm immortal! For Elbereth's sake, I'm an elf prince!"  
  


"At least I didn't betray my own people to torment!"

Please.


	16. Starlight

**Disclaimer: **Still not owner of anything except for Halinor and Emradril. I know that comes as a surprise to you all.

**A/N: **Enjoy!

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**The Shadow of Death**

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_Starlight_

He had been silent for a very long while. Eowyn had sat patiently, knowing that Legolas was preoccupied with his own thoughts. She had decided it would be best to let him sort out his emotions and memories; it was not her place to interrupt. Yet she grew more worried with every passing second. She didn't expect immediate results, but she did hope to see some improvement in his appearance after a while.

No such luck.

Even though he had his back turned to her, she knew there had at least been no physical transformations back into the attractive elf he once was. He had been looking out of the window for perhaps three-quarters of an hour. He had not stirred, and had been completely soundless. She knew he thought of Haldir. Her story had undoubtedly brought back memories from his past; whether good or bad she could not tell. She had hoped that sharing her memory of him would be the first step in his recovery, but there was no way to know if it had been effective or not. Eowyn sighed before she could stop herself, and she immediately and silently scolded herself for doing so. 

"I am not the best of company."

Eowyn almost jumped out of her seat at Legolas's statement; her ears had grown accustomed to the noiselessness of the chamber, and she had hoped Legolas had not heard her sigh. But then she realized what he had said, and a playful smile crept onto her delicate face. "For Elbereth's sake, Legolas, you're not hosting me to a dinner party."

Legolas could've smiled; he was undoubtedly grateful for her witty sense of humor during these times. Yet he kept his back to her as he watched the skies grow lighter with the coming of the dawn. The intense sunlight had hurt his eyes before; he figured he could at least look at the stars while he still had the eyesight to see them. They were, after all, what he would miss most. The stars are an important part of every elf's life, and he was no exception. They were a guiding force, a comforting reassurance, a beauty to look at. Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, and whomever he was with, the stars would always be there. They seemed to be the only constant and reassuring comfort in his life at that moment.

"How do you fare?"

He continued to gaze up at the dwindling stars. "As well as I can be."

"Do you think of Haldir?"

Legolas unconsciously winced at the name. "Yes."

"Of what about him do you think?"

Legolas found himself wishing she wouldn't ask so many questions. "Memories."

Eowyn knew he did not wish to speak of him, yet she knew how important it was. The veil of denial had to be lifted from Legolas's eyes, and if it momentarily caused him distress, it was worth it, for it could eventually save his life.

 "He did not die for naught," she offered softly.

This statement caught him off guard, and he reluctantly turned around to face her. Yet he remained silent.

"The cause he fought and died for was a worthy one."

"Was it?" Legolas could not prevent the contempt and bitterness from seeping into his voice. "My people are leaving Middle Earth. He could have sailed West. He would not and will not benefit from the peaceful land of which he fought for."

"Will _you_?"

It was such a simple question, but Legolas was perplexed. It took him many moments of contemplation before he realized what she meant. He, too, was an elf, and would eventually sail to the West. He had already begun to feel the longing; he had already begun to hear the sea calling. _Will I benefit from this tiresome battle?_

Legolas did not answer her. He simply stared, studying her beautiful face, looking deep into her eyes. She did not flinch, but looked unwaveringly back at him, concern but bravery evident in her face. It was he who broke the gaze.

_Why do I fight this battle? Will I profit? My people are leaving these shores, never to return. Why do I subject myself to all of this suffering and pain?_

_I should have sailed West. _

_I should never have gotten involved._

_This is not my war to fight._

These thoughts suddenly made Legolas livid. 

He was not one to lose his temper, but Eowyn knew that he was not himself. She could see the fire growing in his eyes, and she knew that her question had kindled it. She did not know why, but she wanted him to be angry. She wanted him to question himself. She wanted him to think.

"I will not benefit from this, nor will my people. This is not my battle to fight."

"Yet you fight it. Why?"

"It is folly on my part." Legolas said with gritted teeth and clenched hands. He noticed his surroundings becoming blurrier and blurrier, and the room was fading into darkness ever more quickly. Yet he did not care. He knew his life as an elf was over…but suddenly, he cared naught.

"No, Legolas-"

"Yes! It was my mistake to ever get involved. This is no longer my home. This is your war, Eowyn, not mine. This is Aragorn's war, Gimli's war, Frodo's war…the Men, Dwarves, and Hobbits' war. Not mine, not my peoples'. We should not have gotten involved. We suffer for naught."

"You suffer for naught?" Eowyn stood up, feeling herself tremble in fury and outrage at his selfishness. "You suffer for naught? For thousands upon thousands of years your people have reaped the benefits of this land. Whether in Mirkwood, Rivendell, or Lothlorien, Middle Earth has always been good to your people. You dare wipe your hands completely clean of responsibility after it has been your shelter for millennia?"

"Who are you to question me?"

"I am a citizen of Rohan, a city in Middle Earth, whose people have been killed mercilessly barely forty-eight hours ago!"

"Men are made to die!"

Eowyn was taken aback by this statement. Her mouth gaped, her eyes widened, her breathing sped up. How dare he…

"Men are made to die? So it's tolerable for hundreds of my people to be killed because we are mortal?" She shook her head in disgust and outrage as her voice became louder. "What about Aragorn? If he were cut down in battle, would it have been _okay_ since he is mortal? As for Gimli….he is a Dwarf, also mortal. If he were slain, it would have been acceptable? Or me? Perhaps if I had been struck down, you would not grieve like you do for Haldir." She stopped herself when she noticed the pain in his eyes. She knew he had said the offending statement in a moment of emotional distress, yet her anger had gotten the better of her. Immediately, she felt shamed.

"Forgive me." His voice was wavering, his eyes were cloudy, but Eowyn could have sworn that he did not sound as raspy as before. 

"Oh, Legolas…" As Eowyn walked towards him, Legolas recoiled. 

"I must be alone."

"Please forgive me…."

"No, Eowyn, all is forgiven, yet I must be alone." 

There was such an aching in his voice that Eowyn almost felt drawn to tears. She watched him as he slowly retreated to the shadowy back corner of the chamber. She could hear him sit down, but could no longer see him. She knew he was pained because of what she had said to him. He was in such mourning, such grief, that the prospect of any more death submerged him even deeper into despair than he had been.

~*~

Gimli sighed. He was bored. Sitting on a large stone brick in the main chamber, axe in his hands, the Dwarf had grown tired of thinking. He knew that the Council of Theoden had reached a conclusion, but since he had not attended, he did not know what was to become of them. He sat there waiting for Aragorn, for Gandalf….for anyone. He began to reflect upon the good debates he and Legolas used to have on their long voyage: there was never a dull moment in those discussions.

But there were plenty of dull moments now.

He sighed again. He wasn't hungry, but wanted to eat, since there was nothing better to do. He tapped his axe against the floor, then stopped, for the sound even became annoying to him. He sang old Dwarven folk songs, until he ran out of songs to sing. He thought of his family, until even that bored him.

Realizing he had not moved from a sitting position in a while, he stood. A curious feeling came over him, and he had the sudden desire to run in circles.

So run in circles he did.

He ran in an oval path throughout the chamber, feeling the muscles in his legs start to stretch. In fact, he had just thought of a pretty catchy old Dwarven folk song that he had previously forgotten about, so he began to sing that out loud. Pretty soon, Gimli, son of Gloin, was running in circles in the main chamber singing an old Dwarven folk song at the top of his lungs. Yet he stopped short when he heard a laugh.

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to his left to see Aragorn standing in the doorway, in full armor. He leaned against the stone wall, and had an extremely amused grin on his face that went along perfectly with the peculiar gleam in his eyes.

"Oh please, Master Gimli, do not let me disturb you," stated Aragorn, smiling. Gimli realized, to his embarrassment, how absolutely ridiculous he must have looked. Dwarves did not fare well under humiliating circumstances, so Gimli cleared his throat and adjusted his belt.

"One must get his exercise."

"You were not so enthusiastic to run a couple days ago."

"I told you: we Dwarves are mean sprinters. Long distances are no good." Gimli wished that his face was not burning, for it meant that it was red with awkwardness as well. Still seeing the amused grin on Aragorn's face, he thought it best to change the subject. "What conclusions did the Council come to?"

Aragorn's smile faded. "We shall retaliate with full force. We leave in a few hours, and I have come to prepare you and I for departure. We shall be traveling West, to secure the lands thus far."

"Ahhh," replied Gimli, putting his axe down and rubbing his hands together. "Vengeance."

"Do not be so focused on revenge, Gimli. It is a fair-weather friend, and one that should not be welcomed with open arms." Aragorn's voice held a tone of warning to it, and Gimli knew it was because of Legolas.

"I will not turn into an orc, my dear human, if that is what you refer to." 

Aragorn nodded, the gleam returning to his eyes. "Indeed." Aragorn gathered his cloak, and turned to walk out of the door. Yet before he exited the chamber, he said one last thing over his shoulder.

"You would make an extremely odd-looking orc."

~*~

Alright……another chapter….no reviews. I might just go insane with this bickering between Halinor and Emradril.

I hope you enjoyed the humor I added to this chapter: a bit of comic relief never hurt anyone. It wasn't a particularly eventful chappy….but let me assure you….the next one will be.

"It better be. This story's boring."

"I swear to the Valar, Emradril…."

"You can't tell me to be quiet! Nobody has reviewed! Obviously everybody likes me!"

No comment.


	17. Flickering Lights

**Disclaimer: **"No, Aithne doesn't own Lord of the Rings, nor will she ever. She's just a Tolkien wannabe trying to impress people with her 'writing abilities.'"

"Emradril!"

"See? She knows I speak the truth."

**A/N: **Thank you, thank you, thank you to all of my awesome reviewers! I am now up to 72 reviews, and I can't thank you guys enough! I will most definitely repay you with this chapter. You all have been very patient while I have been avoiding the inevitable. This chapter is action packed with some very vivid descriptions….those squeamish should proceed with precaution.

**The Shadow of Death**

_Flickering Lights_

Mithrandir knew the dangers Aragorn and Gimli now faced. They were headed West in search of the now splintered Uruk-Hai army, in hopes of tracking them down and obliterating them once and for all. Apparently, Theoden felt this necessary in order to secure the people of Rohan. 

But Gandalf felt it was suicide.

The Uruk-Hai were not like humans; this is what Theoden failed to realize. They were untamable creatures of Mordor, strategic killing machines created by Saruman to serve only one purpose: destruction. These beasts never grew disheartened; their loss at Helm's Deep had only fueled their anger. Facing them during this time was implausibly dangerous. But Theoden had turned a blind eye to reason. His heart was driven by a different force… a force so powerful that it could destroy a heart, rot a soul, and obliterate a life.

Revenge.

He had defended and justified Eowyn's, Theoden's, and Legolas's rage to Aragorn barely two hours previous. Gandalf knew that the desire for vengeance was a normal reaction among any race after the death of a close friend or family member. Yet in Legolas's case, this yearning for revenge had manifested itself in the very core of the elf's soul, and slowly but efficiently ate away at his very spirit.

But there was no time for insightful reflection upon events past. Now, he had a more urgent task upon his hands: he had to warn Aragorn and Gimli exactly what they were up against. He had seen too many brave souls die in the past two days and did not want to see any more parish during _this_ battle as well. Gandalf strode silently but surely towards Aragorn who was standing reverently, brushing his horse and murmuring Elvish words of comfort to him. After a quick glimpse around, he noticed that Gimli was no where in the vicinity. This was good: he could speak with Aragorn alone.

"Estel."

Aragorn looked up and smiled as he saw the Wizard approaching. "Mithrandir. Hello, _mellonin."_

Gandalf returned the smile, but Aragorn noticed his smile was strained. "I must speak with you."

Aragorn nodded, apparently waiting for Gandalf to continue. But he saw the Wizard look cautiously around, studying the Rohirrim that had been assigned to Aragorn's scouting band with a wary eye. "Alone."

Aragorn was surprised but not startled by Gandalf's request. He nodded, and quickly followed him to a small corner of the stables.

"What you will do is dangerous, Estel," he began without preamble. There was a subtle but noticeable warning that Aragorn denoted from Mithrandir's tone of voice. 

"I am aware."

"No, my friend, you are not. The Uruk-Hai army is stronger than Theoden has predicted. I saw how many of them escaped our sword points, and there were a fair few. You should be warned ahead of time that this will be no easy counter strike; the Uruk-Hai do not take easily to losing, and they have lost once already."

Aragorn squinted his eyes, staring hard at Gandalf, as he chose his words carefully. "How do you know this?"

Gandalf waved his hand impatiently. "There is no time for explanations, only precautions. You must be mindful of Gimli and the rest of your scouts. You are an experienced leader, but do not forget the importance of bringing these men home alive. The moral of the people of Rohan has faded; I fear if you are unsuccessful in your endeavor, their hope will fade completely."

He was mildly insulted by Mithrandir's obvious warnings, but took heed of them nonetheless. Gandalf did not speak such words of provision unless they were worth harkening to. There was a reason Gandalf had told him this, and Aragorn vowed to remember every word.

"Ah, 'tis Gandalf, the new-and-improved wizard." Aragorn and Mithrandir turned to see Gimli walking towards them as fast as his short legs could carry him. "I suppose you are coming with?"

"Nay, Gimli. Theoden is riding East, and wishes me to accompany him on his own scouting trek."  
  


Gimli nodded and slightly bowed. He looked around, as if searching for something. "Where is my horse?" 

Aragorn could not prevent himself from laughing. "Is something amusing?" asked the Dwarf, his stubby arms on his hips.

"Aye. It seemed to me that you were in the mood for running in the main chamber just a few moments ago. I figured you would rather _sprint_ alongside my horse and I, singing Dwarven folk songs. They sound awfully captivating."

Gimli's face reddened. Mithrandir was not entirely certain of what Aragorn spoke of, but if it was an event that turned a Dwarf's face red, it most certainly must have been a spectacle. While Gimli retreated from the stables mumbling incoherently under his breath, Gandalf turned to look at Aragorn once more. His words were of blatant admonition.

"Estel, be careful."

~*~

These words still resonated in Aragorn's head as he rode, exhausted, towards the West. They had not seen nor heard anything by way of the Uruk-Hai army, and he was almost sure that they had not traveled in this direction. They had most likely traveled South, from the information they had gathered. His band of scouts had been riding for four days straight. His men had gotten very little sleep, had very little to eat, and had been riding hard for days on end. There were about 25 men (and one Dwarf) under his supervision and command and it was unanimously confirmed by the Rohirrim that Aragorn had taken to the part of a leader extremely well.

Looking up into the bright sky, Aragorn realized that it was time for lunch. He called for his men to dismount, while he asked for volunteers to hunt for the noon meal. Halinor, Nahilor, and Mikalias, three men whom Aragorn thought of as responsible and intelligent, volunteered for the job. They were the most skilled out of his small posse of Rohirrim, and had instantly won the respect of their commander when he had overheard a conversation between his three trusted followers and another Rohirrim currently riding South, Rahidril.

_He had been walking towards the stables to ready his horse. But Aragorn had stopped short when he heard his name being mentioned in hushed tones He hid behind a corner wall and silently listened._

_"You know he is Isildur's Heir," he heard Rahidril whisper to the three._

_"And?"__ It was Halinor's voice who answered._

_"Well, Isildur is responsible for this war currently raging throughout our world. I, for one, do not trust him."_

_"Rahidril, that is the most ridiculous comment I have ever heard." Halinor's voice again._

_"Is it? Do you not believe in the saying 'Like father, like son'?"_

_"Isildur wasn't Aragorn's father." Mikalias's reply had been a witty and wry one, and Aragorn felt joy swell in his heart to hear Halinor and Mikalias defend him._

_"You know of what I speak, Mikalias," hissed Rahidril._

_"Stop it. You sound like a little girl spreading gossip about the town." A new voice, that of Nahilor, was heard coming to Aragorn's defense._

_"I don't know what has gotten into you three. How can you trust the descendant of the man who has been responsible for our people's untimely deaths?"_

_"For one, Rahidril, I have only the utmost respect for him," replied Halinor. "It takes a lot of courage to stand up to face and correct the problems your very own ancestor created. He is taking a huge responsibility upon his shoulders, a responsibility that he should not have to carry alone. I will help him."_

Aragorn smiled at the memory as he watched his three loyal followers cross the field and enter a cluster of trees, in search of wild game.

"Human, are we going to dismount this horse, or am I going to permanently walk with my legs three feet apart from each other?" Gimli grunted from behind Aragorn.

"Pardon me, Master Dwarf." Aragorn jumped skillfully and gracefully from the horse, offering Gimli his arm as support.

"I do not need your aid, thank you. I am perfectly fine getting off of this dreadful animal myself." And with that, Gimli clumsily and awkwardly slid off of the horse's hindquarters, landing on his left side, and cursed haggardly. Aragorn suppressed a laugh, but knew better than to offer Gimli his hand again. Gimli stood up, brushed himself off, grunted some more, and headed over to where a group of about five men had started to build a fire.

Aragorn breathed in the fresh scent of the wilderness, floral perfumes and fresh dew intertwined with the comforting scent of freshly burning embers invading his nostrils. He closed his eyes in hopes of lessening the tension in his body. But he snapped them open suddenly. Something was amiss.

As if on cue, he heard a faint rustling of branches and ragged breathing. He turned to see Halinor, sword drawn, face bloodied, running towards the campsite, limping and staggering. The Rohirrim stood, some with cries of surprise, as Aragorn sprinted towards the wounded man. 

Halinor's wounds were worse than Aragorn had initially thought. Blood tricked from his now crooked nose; it was obviously broken. There was a deep gash along his forehead, and a few shallower gashes on his arms and abdomen. Aragorn reached out just in time to catch Halinor as he fell, exhausted and in pain, to the ground.

"Nahil…..Nahil…..and Mika…." he sputtered, spitting out blood. His voice was raspy, his breathing was shallow, and his skin had turned a sickly white.   
  


_Boromir__._

As Aragorn held Halinor in his arms, he was once again reminded of Boromir. He had held Boromir the exact same way. He had the same exhausted look, the same apprehensive yet calm appearance of man who had accepted death. Aragorn forced back both his memory and the hot tears straining to be freed from his eyes as he asked, "What, my friend? What has happened?"

"Uru…Uru…" He could not finish his sentence, but Aragorn knew of what he spoke.

"What of Nahilor and Mikalias?" asked Aragorn. He noticed the Rohirrim had formed a semi-circle around them, but had no time to pay any particular attention to it. Halinor looked deep into Aragorn's eyes, and Aragorn knew what the look meant: Nahilor and Mikalias were in trouble. There was no time to spare.

Aragorn nodded as a sign to Halinor that he understood. "Adolin," he commanded as a blonde haired, blue eyed man stepped forward. "Look after Halinor. Stay here and do not move unless either you or he is in grave danger. The rest of you: come with me. Nahilor and Mikalias are in mortal trouble…it seems as though we have found the Uruk-Hai at last." The men quickly dispersed to mount their horses, and Aragorn looked one more time down at Halinor before mounting his own.

"I will bring them back."

Halinor nodded, and squeezed Aragorn's hand before letting go. He sprinted to his horse, upon which Gimli was already seated. He quickly and effortlessly mounted his steed, and rode hard towards the cluster of trees, his Rohirrim scouts following close behind him.

_Those bastards, _Aragorn thought angrily, urging his horse to go faster. _I will slaughter every one of them…I will pain the ground with their blood…they're responsible for so many deaths…Legolas wouldn't be falling into Shadow if it weren't for them…I will annihilate them and bestow on them the same pain that has wrought our hearts…_

When they reached their destination, Aragorn held up a hand to signify a halt. He drew his sword, as did his followers. They all dismounted, knowing that their horses would be of no advantage in the dense undergrowth of the small forest they were about to enter. Aragorn led the way in, Gimli following him close behind. 

The first thing he noticed that made his skin creep was the utter silence. He heard no breathing, saw no movement, and smelled nothing foul. The brush was so dense that Aragorn was barely able to see three feet in front of him. He suddenly felt the icy, sinking feeling he recognize as claustrophobia clutch his gut, and realized that if he and his men did not find Nahilor or Mikalias soon, they would undoubtedly be ambushed. He held up his right hand, and his scouts stopped moving and knelt down, partially hidden by the underbrush. He did not want to endanger his men; if he had to rescue Nahilor and Mikalias, he would do it alone.

_Stay here_, he mouthed to his followers, who looked both perplexed and uncomfortable at the idea of their leader going on without them. He walked forward cautiously and quietly, yet behind him he heard rustling of feet upon the densely forested floor. He turned to see Gimli following him and frowned at the Dwarf, who merely shrugged and whispered, "You think I would let a clumsy human rescue two injured men alone? I think not."

Secretly grateful for Gimli's accompaniment, he offered him a small smile and proceeded forward with the utmost silence. He prayed for Nahilor and Mikalias's well-being, and hoped that the Uruk-Hai had only injured them…

Suddenly, a dark figure burst out of the brush to Aragorn's right, knocking him to the forest floor. He struggled to get up, but the Uruk-Hai who was now fully on top of him was much heavier than he. His arms were pinned down by the Uruk Hai, so he used his legs to kick him in the groin. The beast moaned in pain and gave a great roar of surprise as Aragorn grabbed his sword and decapitated the beast. Warm, sticky, black blood flowed freely over his arms and splattered his face.

He heard a growl from behind him, and whirled around just in time to impale another Uruk. He looked around and noticed that the Beast Warriors were coming from every direction. He saw Gimli running towards him, bloodied axe in his hand. He had a slight cut over his left eye, and shouted, "They're surrounding us!"

And Aragorn noticed that he spoke true. There was a huge circle of Uruks surrounding them, growling hungrily and mercilessly, smiling evilly, swords ready to maim. The human and the Dwarf stood back to back, both ready to die, ready to take on the bastards who had already claimed the lives of so many.

_Come on, _Aragorn thought, twirling his sword in his hand. _Come on you foul creatures from hell…_

Yet at that moment, to Aragorn's left, he heard a different cry: a cry of a human: or rather, of _humans. _Flashes of armor could be seen amongst the heavy underbrush, and suddenly his faithful scouts were ambushing the very enemies that had ambushed them. The scouts attacked with full force, revenge in their veins, anger in their hearts. Aragorn's heart swelled with relief and hope as he saw Uruk after Uruk fall. He joined in the fighting, parrying, thrusting, parrying, thrusting. He decapitated one, cut another in half. He was completely drenched in Uruk-Hai blood; he could feel it stick to his bare skin, he could taste the metallic tang on his tongue. 

As he felled another Uruk, his heart suddenly felt lighter than it had in months. They could do this…they could win…A beam of hope cascaded through the darkness and doubt that had clouted Aragorn's mind. Only a few more Uruks remained, and his men were excellent fighters, fueled by rage and a lust to avenge their loved ones who had died at the hands of these creatures…. 

"Aragorn!"

It was Gimli's cry, a yell of warning. Aragorn turned to his right to look at Gimli, who pointed towards the horizon. His heart fell at the very sight, and he let out a cry of dismay. 

Perhaps a thousand Uruk-Hai were congressing, all in full armor, holding swords, weapons, and shields. He looked around at his men, and noticed that perhaps six had fallen victim to the beasts' swords already. There were perhaps nineteen of them against a thousand Uruks.

It was hopeless…

They formed another circle around the surviving scouts, chanting in the tongue of Mordor. The circle constricted ever tighter, so close that Aragorn could feel their hot breath, their vile scent. He could see the hunger in their eyes, awaiting the pure satisfaction they would receive by torturing the humans and the lone Dwarf. Aragorn wore the look of a man who had accepted death long ago. He knew he would be killed, and only prayed to Elbereth that it would be short and as painless as possible. Yet he grieved not for the loss of his life; he thought not of himself.

_Frodo…_

He quickly prayed that Frodo and Samwise would succeed. He prayed that Merry and Peregrin were alright and would fare well…he would miss them, he would pray for them, and he only hoped with all of his soul that they could bring about the end to the pain and torture of Sauron…they were Middle Earth's last hope, the last beacon of optimism in a dark world full of uncertainty…

_Legolas__…_

His friend of old, like a brother. He hoped he would overcome the Shadow that clouded his soul…he wished he had told him how much he cared for him, how much the elf meant to him…how he would gladly give his life in his name or in his honor, how his past memories they shared still brought to him a smile, even in the face of danger…never would he forget Legolas…

_Arwen__…_

She would sail West, forever remembering him as the human who left her alone to suffer. Her beautiful eyes, her raven hair, the touch of her soft skin, the delicate hands that would caress his face, the taste of her lips…never again would he know any of these…he longed to hold her, to tell her he loved her more than life itself, how she would always be in his heart, how she made his soul complete…and Aragorn felt his heart die as he realized he would never see her again.

But he quickly came to the conclusion that he would not leave any of these loved ones to despair without a fight. 

 "Fellow men of Middle Earth!" he screamed, rallying the men around him. He forced himself to ignore the ever-shrinking circle of Uruks surrounding them. The men looked haggard, out of breath, and particularly hopeless. Most were bleeding from cuts, and many were wincing in pain due to broken or bruised bones. "Will you let these Beast Warriors take your lives? Will you let them burn your homes, kill your wives and children? Will you let them rule free Middle Earth without a fight? I say we give these bastards of Mordor what they deserve!"

The men shouted their consent, cheering Aragorn with raised weapons and raised voices. 

As Aragorn turned to face the Uruks for the last time, her delicate and fragile face was in his mind. He remembered the look of utter depression in her once lively face as he mounted his horse to depart from Rivendell…he remembered that single tear that fell from her beautiful emerald eyes. He knew that tear was for him.

And as he charged the armed and vicious Uruk-Hai, knowing they were outnumbered, knowing beyond a doubt that he would perish, the single tear that descended his bloodied face was for her.

~*~

Ooooohhhhh, I'm going to get flamers for this one.

I can hear them now:

_Is Aragorn going to die?_

_What about Gimli?_

_Why didn't you write more about Legolas?_

_Since when did Aragorn, the manly man, cry?_

_If you kill Aragorn, I'll kill _**you.**

_Am I going to have to read 1221 more chapters to find out what's going to happen to Legolas? _

I can't answer any of those questions (or that death threat) except for the last one. The answer is: NO.

You will not have to wait long to hear about our poor elf. 

And thanks to my awesome reviewers, I have 72 reviews! Thank you sooo much….I sincerely hope you enjoyed this chapter.

In fact, I got so many reviews, Emradril and Halinor are now quietly bickering in the corner…luckily, out of earshot for me.

My timely update is for all of my faithful reviewers who have been reviewing since the beginning….you know who you are, and thanks.

I will most definitely award 25 points to the person who can guess the ending in their review. But if you win, don't expect those 25 points until I post the last chapter. What will you do with those 25 points? Um…..not sure. Boast about them, I guess. ;-)


	18. Lightning Strikes

**Disclaimer: **Wow….I feel so extremely special. Now I own not only Emradril and Halinor, but Nahilor, Makalias, and Adolin. I just hope they all don't start bickering….Elbereth, that would be awful. Remember: if you wanna take 'em, just ask. Oh yeah: still don't own Lord of the Rings.

**A/N: **Wow. Another positing! Go me! *smiles* I am up to 76 reviews! This is awesome. I love to see those reviews in my mailbox every time I sign on. Thanks to my reviewers! I hope you all are enjoying…make sure to keep up the input! And now….Chapter 18…….

**The Shadow of Death**

_Lightening Strikes_

Adolin heard Aragorn's shouting. He heard the sounds of armor clanking, swords clashing, wild screams of the Uruks. He knew that his leader and his fellow scouts were in trouble…

…and he needed to do something.

But he could not. He looked down at Halinor in his arms. In the back of his mind Adolin knew his friend was dying. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin a sick color of paste. He was sweating incessantly despite the cold, and his breathing now shallow and ragged; yet somehow he managed to speak.

"Leave….me…" he croaked in a pleading voice.

Adolin could not speak, so he just shook his head.

"Adolin…….go."

"No."  His voice was adamant, firm; he would not leave Halinor to his death. Yet he knew he needed to do something…._anything…..to help his brothers in arms. He looked around as if searching for an answer. He looked from the trees to the sky, back to the trees, down at Halinor. Suddenly, he realized with despair, that no one knew they were in trouble. His heart sped up as his mind reeled with possibilities…if the Uruks were great in number and were successfully advantaging over his fellow scouts, reinforcements would never be sent for they had no way of knowing their dire situation…_

Decidedly, Adolin picked Halinor up and threw him over his shoulder. The dying man struggled weakly in protest, but soon became limp with exhaustion. Adolin propped him on his horse, and mounted it behind him. Urging his trusted mare in the direction of Helm's Deep, he prayed to Elbereth that his leader and fellow Rohirrim were alright, and that Halinor would survive the four-day journey.

~*~

"No sign of them, my Lord."

Theoden sighed, shaking his head as a scout reported their findings. He brought a hand up to his eyes and massaged them gently. They stung due to the strong winds that had picked up in the past hour or so, and his lack of sleep did not heed his tired eyesight either. He had expected that the Uruk-Hai had traveled East, yet his suspicions were wrong. They had encountered not a single Uruk since they left Helm's Deep, much to his dismay...their search had been fruitless, and his thirst for revenge had gone unquenched. 

It was frustrating.

Theoden looked up and realized that Gandalf was peering at him in an odd way. "What is it, my friend?"

Gandalf shook his head, yet he did not take his gaze away from the king.

"What?"

"The Uruks traveled West," came the calm reply.

Startled, Theoden frowned and asked, "And how do you know this?"

Gandalf shrugged and said plainly, "Intuition." His tone wasn't one of alarm, but then again, Theoden realized that it wasn't one filled with nonchalance either.

Thus, he nodded and wondered aloud, "Do you suppose Aragorn has encountered them?"

Gandalf was quiet for a moment, turning his gaze to the horizon. "I cannot be sure. However, I hope that they have not."

"Yes, for the Uruk army's sake," he spat. He knew his men were wrought with despair, and he also knew what fine warriors they were.

"No, for their own."

Theoden, surprised, turned his horse to face Gandalf, who did not return his stare. He seemed to be preoccupied and worried. Not wanting to disrupt the Wizard's train of thought, Theoden cleared his throat and spoke to his followers. "We shall keep looking. They can only avoid us for so long. But first, we shall rest."

The scouting party all dismounted, and heavy sighs of relief and fatigue filled the air. Theoden knew that this journey had been a difficult one, and only wished that his faithful men could have their reward via revenge. He dismounted his steed and stretched as well, and looked up into the overcast sky, sighing, wishing he were back home in Rohan. He thought of Eomer, who had traveled North, hoping that he was safe. He thought of Eowyn, who was still back at Helm's Deep, and hoped that her pain of loss was easing.

Then, suddenly, out of no where, a blinding lightning bolt struck a tree barely fifty meters away. It was followed by a crackling and a deafening booming sound, and Theoden temporarily lost his sight to complete whiteness and lost his hearing to a loud ringing sound resonating in his skull. He blinked a few times until his vision was regained, looked into the distance, and noticed the tree was wielding fire. He looked up into the sky once again, and felt raindrops splatter onto his face, creating a cooling and refreshing sensation nonetheless. He looked around at his men, making sure none had been injured, and was surprised to see Gandalf, still mounted on his horse, his eyes wide and shocked, staring at the now flaming tree.

At first the king thought that Gandalf was merely surprised by the lightning. Yet as he studied his face closer, he noticed a look of utter dread and fear wash over his face. He stood completely still, his back straight, his hand gripping tightly to his ornate staff. He had never seen Gandalf like this, and it alarmed him.

As if the Wizard could hear his thoughts, he turned to face the king. "We must ride West."

"What?"

"Aragorn and the others are in trouble. We must ride West."

"But Gandalf-"

"Now."

He said it with such finality, such determination that Theoden knew that he wasn't acting upon a mere whim. Without further ado, Theoden rounded up his men and told them that there was no time to spare; they were riding West. No sooner had Theoden mounted his horse than Gandalf took off, galloping at full speed. The king galloped right after him, feeling the wind in his hair, seeing the blur of trees passing him by. He was doing what he always loved to do; he was not a king, not a politician, not a royal figure; he was a soldier, and he was defending his people. Yet despair weighed down his heart when Theoden realized with a start that Aragorn was at least a six-day trip away.

By the time they reached them, it might already be too late.

~*~  

_Pain.___

_Exhaustion.___

_Guilt.___

_Acceptance.___

_Misery.___

Halinor could barely hold on to consciousness as he and Adolin rode….he knew not to where. Yet he figured they were headed towards Helm's Deep, to hopefully find their king still there, and to alert him of the dangers Aragorn now faced….

_Pain._ The pain was so intense that Halinor could barely think straight. His head was pounding, his face was throbbing. It hurt every time he took a breath, every time he moved, every time he swallowed. The pain seeped through to his thoughts, making his mind numb and rendering his body useless. As time passed, he found it harder and harder to inhale, and he knew that if the ache didn't stop soon, he would die due to lack of air. Actually, as the hurting bore into his muscles, death sounded like a good alternative…_Please…make it stop…_

_Exhaustion.__ He was so tired he could not keep his eyes open, nor could he prop his head up. His eyelids felt as if they held two hundred kilos of metal. His vision was blurry. He felt as if he was in a nightmare of which he could not escape. He desperately tried to stay awake; he refused to let sleep take over him in fear of never waking up, in fear of his fellow Rohirrim that now were fighting for their lives...he would not rest in comfort as his friends were being attacked…._

_Guilt._ The strongest feeling of them all. He was alive because he had run and left Nahilor and Makalias to their deaths. He was a coward, he was an untrue friend and now, because of his spinelessness, his whole scouting party was facing the vicious Uruk-Hai army whilst he remained alive. They were outnumbered, perhaps twenty to one, and the likelihood that any of them would survive was minimal. _Oh, the guilt…_

_Acceptance.__ Halinor had accepted the fact that he would, amongst all certainty, die. He had already felt his breath leave him thrice, yet it always came back as soon as the darkness felt impenetrable. He wished he had enjoyed life while he had the chance. His wife was with child….he would never see his son or daughter grow…._

_Misery.__ At this realization, despair flooded through his body, invaded his heart, engulfed his soul. His wife would be left alone to raise a child by herself, a child who would never know his or her father. The agony of this awareness sent silent tears sweeping down his face.  _

He felt his breath leave him again. His vision was obstructed by a darkness that swept across the landscape. It was not night, for no stars were out. It was only a matter of seconds before his eyes saw nothing but black.

And Halinor knew no more. 

~*~

The slamming of a door woke Eowyn with a start. She sat up and realized that it was nighttime. Flustered and, for a moment, confused, she looked about her. She had fallen asleep, propped up against a side wall of the chamber. She did not remember falling asleep, but she felt upset as she realized that she had left Legolas to mourn alone. As she struggled to see in the stifling blackness, she heard a shuffling a few feet from her.

"Legolas?"

"Shhh!"

She strained her eyes, trying to see the elf. Yet being a human, the darkness dominated her vision and she could barely make an outline of the elf, standing in a rigid position as if straining to hear something. She stood up, and could barely hear a conversation that must have been going on in a room adjacent to theirs. She moved towards the door to open it and listen, when she felt a cold hand on her wrist.

"Don't."

"Legolas, don't you want to hear?" No response answered her, so she said, "Legolas, please. I want to hear what is going on."

Silence once again. Decidedly, Eowyn strode towards the door and opened it. The lights of the main chamber were dim, but it was a shock to her eyesight to go from blindness to visibility. Adjusting her eyes as quickly as she could, she rubbed them quickly and laid them upon a soldier of her uncle's, Adolin, holding a man in his arms. He was speaking to a general quickly yet quietly. This particular general had not gone scouting because of his injury, and was placed in charge of Helm's Deep at her uncle's command. She walked quickly forward, concern evident on her flawless features. As she approached, she gasped, horrified, at the man who Adolin was holding.

Halinor.

He was bloodied beyond belief and apparently unconscious. The two men had heard her gasp and looked to her. She could see the worry in Adolin's eyes, and rushed forward to help Halinor.

"Put him down."

Adolin, the general, and Eowyn helped to ease him down to the stone floor. Adolin gathered spare blankets and covered his friend with them, for he was shivering uncontrollably. Eowyn sat down next to him, cradling his head in her arms. She ordered a bucket of water and a soft cloth, and, as soon as both arrived due to the graces of the general, she began to wash his wounds, beginning with the most serious, which were evidently on his abdomen. They were still bleeding, regardless of the fact that they were several days old.

"They are in trouble…."

"Where……what happened….."

"Trees……searching for food…..Nahilor and Makalias….."

"How…….."

"Uruks……"

Eowyn could barely make out Adolin's conversation with the general as she delicately cleaned Halinor's wounds. From what she could gather, their scout band had been ambushed by the Uruk army, and was in trouble. With no reinforcements less than two days away, the situation seemed hopeless. She squeezed these new bits of information from her mind: her responsibility now lied with Halinor. She had some training in wound care, and hoped that it would be enough to save his life. He had stopped shivering, but was still sweaty and unconscious. 

"Who is your leader?"

"Aragorn."

Eowyn's eyes snapped to where Adolin and the general were standing. Aragorn was their band leader.

_Ambushed.__ No reinforcements. Hopeless._

Eowyn pleaded with herself not to let the tears brimming fall down her face. She had to worry about Halinor. 

_Aragorn is fine_, she told herself. _If there is anyone who can take care of himself, it is he._

Yet the tears did fall. She hurriedly brushed them away, and continued to clean Halinor's wounds. She heard a scuffle of feet running across a stone floor, and as Eowyn looked towards the noise, she realized that it came from Legolas's chamber. Seeing that most of his wounds were cleaned and healing, Eowyn eased his head to the floor, placing one wet towel over his head in hopes of subduing his fever, and one dry towel under his head for comfort. He moaned quietly, and Eowyn whispered, "I'll be back."

Unnoticed by Adolin or the general, she quietly yet swiftly walked towards the chamber. She peered in, and saw a figure standing on the window sill, looking down. They were on the lowest level, perhaps only twenty feet from the ground, yet it was still a jump. 

"Legolas!" she cried.

He turned to face her. She could still not make out his features, yet he seemed taller; he no longer slouched, but seemed to have regained most of his posture. "I must help them."

Eowyn knew he had overheard the conversation, and she said nothing. There was nothing to say.

"Attend to Halinor." He turned from her to face the window again, but said, "May the Valar bless you, Eowyn."

And as he jumped, his figure illuminated by the full moon, Eowyn could barely see a pointed ear before he vanished into the night.

~*~ 

Firstly and FOREMOST: Thank you to Gwyn, who gave me two little plot bunnies. Those bunnies apparently reproduced…..and gave way to about twenty little plot bunnies. Hooray! Now all I have to do is figure out how to feed all of them……

Secondly, thanks to my reviewers! Wow, I am posting so much lately…..I had AP tests last week, so I had no homework….maybe that's why….

Here are personal thank-yous to my reviewers of Chapter 17:

**QT Pie-pippinsgurl: **I'm soooo sorry I stopped it there! I know, I know…I'm evil. But, as I've said before: being evil is highly underrated. I hope this chapter fed some of your curiosity…unless it had to do with the fate of Aragorn and Gimli…..um, hopefully that will be addressed next chapter. Thanks so much for putting me on your favorites! I'm flattered!

**Gwyn****: You finally got the recognition you deserved! So this was a little gift…now all of the angry readers _will be after me. Have no fear: Aithne is here! _**

**The Dark Rogue: **Uh oh. Only a one-worded review. Not a good sign. Miss Leggy? I hope this chapter eased your pain a little! Thanks for all of your reviews!

**MoroTheWolfGod****: Well…so far, you are the only one who is guessing the ending. So I guess so far, you're the only one in the race for those awesome twenty-five points. Think you're right? Stay tuned to see…..**

To all of my other reviewers, you guys rock. Seriously. And if you like this story, please tell me…..so I know what to include and what not to include in my next story that is already in progress!

"See? Halinor's the coward! He ran away and left Mikalias and Nahilor alone to perish!"

"Shut up, you fool of an orc. You were responsible for the war between Mirkwood and the orcs!"

"Hey, Halinor. The elf's got a point, there. You left me and Nahilor to die!"

*Gulp* "Er….well…."

"Get him, Mikalias!"

Oh dear.


	19. Speeds of Light

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything. Nothing. Zero. Zip. Nada. Oh yeah….but I _do own those crazy nutcases who are currently running around the room chasing each other. Yes, that would include Emradril, Nahilor, Makalias, and Adolin…that's funny. I don't remember signing up for a full-time babysitting job……_

**A/N: **Upon Tree Nymph's suggestion, I have decided to write more from Legolas's POV. She's right in the fact that he is neglected when it comes to POVs. So, here you have it…..a chapter (or at least some of a chapter) written as Legolas sees it. I can hear the squeals of delight already……

**The Shadow of Death**

_Speeds of Light_

He was not used to being overwhelmed by dimness; it was of no consequence to elves, for their eyesight adjusted itself to the conditions at hand. In elf form, he had no problem making his way in the dark. He had grown accustomed to his sharpened senses, especially his acute eyesight, of which, as an elf, he depended so desperately upon.

But he wasn't an elf any longer.

This realization he had adjusted to…mostly. It had taken him hours of nothing but contemplation, denial, anger, and fear; hours upon hours of self-loathing and self-pity, hours that he spent reminiscing, minutes he spent repenting, seconds he spent in regret. Finally, after his mind ached with horrible thoughts and lost feelings, he realized that he was an orc…and an orc he would stay. Brooding would be fruitless, shame would be unproductive. And as he ran over the hillsides, feeling the breeze in his hair and the sound of birds in the distance, he pushed aside the unpleasant tingling he had grown to recognize as despair and focused on a more important matter: Aragorn and Gimli's safety.

He had felt his heart explode in dread when Adolin had informed the general of the condition of Aragorn's band of scouts. Legolas had not known anything about this scouting mission, for if he had, he would have warned against it. It was a fool's folly to provoke already retreating Uruks…any  man with logic in his brain should know that. _If only I hadn't been so weak, Legolas thought angrily, scolding himself silently. __If only I hadn't brought this upon myself…I would have been able to go with them, to guide them, to fight with them by their side…_

But Legolas knew that this mission would bring nothing but more death and destruction to a people who could handle no more…

He felt the pang of weariness sweep over his entire body, yet he forced his presently sluggish orc-mind to ignore it. _How orcs get by with such a brain is unbelievably surprising, _he thought wryly. He was used to quick reactions, swift decisions; unfortunately, in an orc's body, Legolas received nothing but a slow brain and a lagging body. He noticed his breathing had become ragged and his chest hurt as his small lungs forced themselves to receive air. He was sweating and his vision remained ever blurry and shapeless, and the fact that the ground now grew uneven with lumpy dirt and uprooted shrubbery did not help in the slightest. In his exhaustion, Legolas tripped over what appeared to be the root of a tree and inherently held out his hands to prevent his face from smashing onto the ground. To his utter surprise, his fall was agile; he twisted himself easily so he rolled right over the ground to a complete standing position, sustaining nothing but a hopeful feel in his gut. _There's no way an orc could do that_…_they're way too clumsy to be able to avoid an injury in such a way…_

Shaking his head and breaking into another run that was somewhat faster than the last, he tried to focus on his friends in peril. As far as he knew, he was the only one who could help them…who else would? Soon the intense burning sensation that had occupied his legs for so long gave way to a pleasant numbness, of which he was grateful. Looking around, he realized that he still had his Elvish sense of direction about him; he knew he was traveling West. He knew for not how long he ran, but as he stopped to catch his breath, he noticed a light flickering on the distant horizon directly behind him. 

Startled and upset, he turned and sprinted. The sun was waking in the Eastern horizon; there was absolutely no time to waste…

A little voice in the back of his mind began to whisper, _They're__ already dead…they're already dead._

 There was absolutely no way that Aragorn and Gimli could have survived an ambush by a band of Uruk-Hai, being outnumbered twenty to one. They were both fearsome warriors, but it would only be a matter of time before they became distressed and exhausted… 

He watched with alarm as the sky became lighter and lighter with the rising sun. His legs threatened to give way, but there would be no quitting now.

_They're already dead….they're already dead…_

He felt tears brimming in his eyes, but refused to let them fall. Being upset would not help his friends…his despair came second to their well-being and he pushed on, running at the fastest speed his legs would warrant. He shoved all of his frustrations, sadness, anger, and depression from his mind. He focused on running…he focused on helping his friends….he focused on the sweet scent of air, the birds chirping, the beautiful green landscape……the multicolored flowers, the dawning sun…

_The sun is dawning red…they're already dead…the sun is dawning red…they're already dead…_

"They're not dead," Legolas said aloud.

_They're already dead…_

"They're not dead," Legolas repeated, if not louder this time.

_The sun is dawning red…_

"They're not dead!" Legolas screamed into the wide open plane, stopping in his tracks. Yet the nemesis in his mind did not cease.

_The sun is dawning red…_

_It is not dawning red of their blood,_ thought Legolas adamantly, trying desperately to silence the enemy inside himself. 

Instantly, he knew this voice, this unexplainable and unwelcome foe, was his logic speaking. It had been his logic, his very own reasoning that had put him in this predicament to begin with. His own thought process, his own brain, his own _mind had done this to him. An elf's logic is a blessed and celebrated thing; it is what has helped his people survive on Middle Earth for millennia. He had been brought up, as a warrior and a royal Prince of Mirkwood, to trust his logic and nothing else while amongst situations of life and death. But this very thing he trusted, this very thing that his people _worshipped_, was destroying him._

_You know I speak true…_

Yet it did not, and Legolas had come to that complex peak of comprehension. If it spoke true, it would not have turned him into an orc. If it spoke true, it would not have hindered his ability to Heal. If it spoke true…

…_if I speak true, your friends are dead._

Legolas did not answer: he ran, once again sprinting until he felt dizzy. Forcing himself not to lose focus, his eyes surveyed the horizon before him, searching desperately for the clump of trees he heard Adolin speak of. He assessed the land in front of him starting to his left. He squinted, trying as hard as he could to see as far as possible. All he saw was hills, plains, valleys….

And a tuft of trees.

His breath caught in his throat and his heart nearly pounded its way out of his rib cage. He sputtered and coughed, feeling nausea rise from his intestines. Yet he wasted no time, for it was too valuable…he ran unbelievably fast for an orc….in fact, _impossibly fast….yet he refused to be troubled with any details of the like. _

_They're already dead…_

He entered the tree cluster and was surprised to see how thick the underbrush was. He felt the damp leaves brush his face and his hair, he could smell the musty floral scents that always awoke after a slight rain. He could barely see one yard in front of him; instead, he saw a never-ending wall of green and brown intertwined with shocking colors of fucia and gold patches where exotic flowers grew. He squinted his eyes and searched unsuccessfully, trying desperately to locate Aragorn…or Gimli…or anyone, for that matter.

As he struggled through the thickets, an occasional sting indicated where unforeseen thorns cut him and where tree branches scraped him. He would cry out in dismay every few steps as roots tripped his once-sure footing. But, strangely enough, this did not discourage him…in fact, it only made him more determined. For the first time in what felt like years, Legolas did not feel disheartened. His thoughts were consumed with worry for his friends; thus, he had no time for anger, for fear, for the longing of revenge. All he had time for was to figure out how to find his friends…and how he would help them once he did.

If_ you find them…___

_When I do, _Legolas responded to his logic defiantly. _When I do.___

~*~

"Stop! Gandalf, stop!" Theoden shouted from several meters behind the Wizard. Gandalf had been riding at an unbelievable pace for two straight days. Perhaps Gandalf's horse, Shadowfax, was up for the pace of the journey, but the rest of their steeds were not. Gandalf looked behind him, and noticed that nearly all of his accompanying Rohirrim were at least fifty meters behind him; Theoden was the closest, but even he was left lagging. The Wizard slowed to a trot, and let Theoden arrive beside him. "My friend, my men need rest," the king explained, gesturing to the rest who were now arriving. Gandalf surveyed them and noticed many tired, yet determined faces. They were young, but they were strong. Therefore, Gandalf shook his head.

 "There is no time for rest."

Theoden narrowed his eyes menacingly. "Gandalf, it is I who is the supreme commander of these men. If I say that they need rest, then so be it, they shall rest."

He usually respected Theoden's wishes, for he did not like to undermine the rule of a rightful leader. Yet Theoden simply did not understand the pure devastation that he had foreseen….

"Theoden," Gandalf started, his tone low. "Your men might already be dead."

A look of absolute horror overcame Theoden's regal face. His gray eyes were hard and unblinking, as if afraid it would somehow further the damage already caused by the Uruks upon his men. It hurt Gandalf to bestow such grief upon a friend, but he knew it was necessary. He watched with slight admiration as Theoden drew himself up, took in a deep and fortifying breath, and looked to his men, a powerful and commanding air about him.

"Men, we cannot afford to rest. We must journey on!" Theoden's mind reeled and he prayed that he, as the beholder of this new and horrifying information, would have the strength to finish the journey without mentally shutting down in despair. He scanned his followers and noticed that they now donned grave looks; these men were not simple, they knew what the urgency was. And, being the faithful subjects they were, none of them let out even a moan of protest. If exhaustion to the point of unconsciousness meant that they find their comrades in time to save them, then so be it.

~*~

I know, I know….very uneventful and short chapter. I apologize. The fact is that it happens to be four in the morning, and honestly, I wrote this chapter in a half an hour. It all came flowing out…I couldn't stop it. I guess that's a good thing when its _not_ four in the morning.

WOW. Wow, wow, wow, wow…….I now have 83 reviews. This is awesome. And thanks to Jinnie, who was so nice and put me on her website at s amused in corner.*

Oooh…my evilness must be running off on Emradril. 

Did I mention that being evil is highly underrated?


	20. Prism

**Disclaimer: **I, Aithne, hereby declare that I am the rightful owner of Halinor, Adolin, Nahilor, Makalias, and Emradril. Any who wish to use these characters must ask permission from I……hey, at least it _sounded professional…..NO, I still don't own Lord of the Rings, nor will I ever. So stop asking me._

**A/N: **I have been putting this off for two chapters, and I think that my loyal readers should be rewarded. In this chapter, we find out the fate of Gimli and Aragorn. I had a particularly difficult time writing this chapter…I must have deleted it four or five times before finding it satisfactory. I hope I don't get a lot of flamers for this one….Without further hesitance, I present Chapter Twenty!

**The Shadow of Death**

_Prism_

"Aragorn, answer me! Gimli!" 

Legolas shouted the names of his friends in vain, desperately trying to find them. He had been walking in circles for perhaps the past fifteen minutes, no closer to his friends than he had started out. He methodically called out both of their names, hoping that either of them were answer but knowing that they wouldn't. A calm feeling of acceptance rose in his throat, but he knew that the acceptance would give way to the bitter pain of death of which he had not the stomach for again. 

First acceptance, then guilt…guilt for everything. Guilt for words said in the past, guilt for done deeds, guilt for abandonment and for fear and for transgressions long gone…

…he should have been there. He should have gone with. He left his friends to face their enemies alone while he locked himself in a room, wallowing in self-pity and mourning for death that could never be changed nor reversed. He had selfishly thought of none others but himself, the emotions that clouded _his_ mind, the mourning _he delt with, the disease _he _was trying so hard to overcome. Not once, he realized now, did he ever bother to think of his friends. Not once._

_The sun dawns red…they're already dead…_

His hands were bleeding, his face was scratched, his legs were sore. He felt as if a boulder was in the pit of his stomach; he recognized the feeling as dread. Dread that his friends were dead. Dread that he would have to endure with the pain. Dread in thinking about informing their loved ones upon their deaths, informing Gloin, informing Arwen…

Arwen. How would she be able to deal with the news of Estel's death? He could hear her cry, see her tears fall down her delicate face, feel her very pain that would tear her soul in half. And he would have to give her the news…the news that he had been crippled and weakened of his own accord, that he had not been there for Estel in the event of his untimely death, that he was a selfish coward who crouched in shadowy corners brooding while his friends remained brave and bold in the face of death.

The tears burned behind his eyes, but Legolas ignored them. He bit his lower lip in determination and pushed ever more forcefully through the underbrush. He would _not_ give Arwen the news. He would find both Estel and Gimli alive.

_They're already dead…_

And he would nurse them back to health if they were injured…

_They're already dead…_

And he would once again be able to fight for a cause that was greater than any of them…

_They're already dead…_

And they would celebrate the nectars of victory together…

_They're already dead…_

He bit down on his lip harder in desperation and tasted the metallic tang of blood. He felt the sharp growths of thorns rip through his hands, tangle his feet, scrape his face. But somehow, the pain was relieving and therapeutic for him. It took his mind off of the guilt, the pain, the worry…

"Help…"

Legolas stopped dead in his tracks. He perked his ears up, even though he did not have his Elvish senses, closed his eyes, and focused all that was left of his energy into concentrating on the sound he thought he had heard. It sounded so real, so close…had he been imagining things simply out of an anxiousness to find his friends? Was his orc-mind playing upon his emotions, making him hear voices that had not been spoken?  

"Help…"

He heard it again, a definite utterance. It came awkwardly and huskily, as if it were extremely hurtful to the speaker. It was not a cry; it sounded as if the owner did not have the strength or the will to call any louder…it sounded like the remark of an injured man…

_Estel__._

Legolas dashed in the direction of the sound, ignoring his clumsy footing that caused him to trip thrice, the pounding in his head that made his stomach boil in sickness, the sharp pains that resonated from his hands all the way up to his shoulders that made him want to moan in pain. 

_Thud, thud, thud, thud…_

He concentrated on the thumping of his heavy feet. His breathing became labored, and he began to feel light headed…

_They're already dead…_

"Estel! Gimli! Can you hear me?"

_They're already dead…_

"Answer me!"

_They're already dead…_

Suddenly, Legolas lost his footing again and tumbled headfirst to the ground. He hit the undergrowth hard in mid-protest, throwing his hands out in front of him to protect himself from the dense thicket of thorns and sharp bark that inhabited the forest floor. He smacked to the ground and saw green and red spots in his eyes as his head pounded against an outcropping of a hard piece of bark. Face down, he groaned in pain and was startled to taste blood enter his mouth. But the blood was not his own. Looking around him, he let out a disgruntled moan as he surveyed the ground. It was covered in freshly drawn blood.

Red blood…which meant that the blood was not that of the Uruks. 

Redness covered the ground unevenly; there were pools of blood to his right, smears to his left. He quickly picked himself up, and felt slightly nauseous at the sight of such a scene. Nevertheless, he proceeded to run, however more cautious this time, blinded by the thickness of branches, in the direction where he first heard the plea for help. He closed his eyes, as they were of no use to him, and felt his body adjust to the denseness of the shrubbery around him. He flailed his arms in front of himself, hopefully pushing thorny branches and rough tree limbs from his face. Yet suddenly, he drew his eyebrows together as he realized he felt nothing more in front of his hands, no leaves, no branches, no bushes…nothing. Relieved that this unexpected clearing would make his search easier, he opened his eyes.

He stood, gawking, and the unimaginable horrors he viewed. His mind went black, his body went numb, time became unnervingly sluggish. His eyesight sharpened, then darkened, then sharpened once more. He felt as though he were drifting in and out of a conscious state, not knowing which world was real and which was fantasy. But as his mind forced him to come back to the world of reality, he heard someone screaming.

It didn't take long for him to realize it was him.

Surrounding him, in all directions, was a sea of dead bodies. Human faces mingled with Uruk faces, human blood mixed with Uruk blood. Bits of torn armor and bright pieces of clothing were strewn across the clearing, creating an ironic sense of festivity. Broken swords, tattered shields, and various body parts lay untended and still in the fresh morning light. He felt his legs grow weak as his lips muttered, "_N'uma_."

As he surveyed the scene with abhorrence, trying to stay conscious, a feeling of everlasting grief occupy his heart and mind, a rustling sound and a shocking sight of movement caught his eye. The figure was lying flat, yet it began to moan with pain and tiredness. It had apparently become restless with pain and grunted occasionally, as it forced itself into a sitting position, never raising its head off of the ground more than, at most, two inches...

"Help."

It was this figure whom Legolas had heard the plea from. It had grown weaker, quieter within the passing minutes; the owner of the plea must be losing strength very quickly. Legolas finally managed to put his shock aside and jog over to the figure, very cautious, not willing to take any unnecessary risks or do anything too rash. He still had to find his friends… 

"Friend, I come in peace…"

The figure turned around to him, and Legolas's eyes widened in surprise.

"Gimli!"

The Dwarf's lower body was covered by an Uruk. The unlucky brute had Gimli's axe sticking out from his back; apparently it had been a last effort by Gimli to kill his attacker. Dried black blood cascaded down the beast's body and had trickled down to dry on Gimli's crushed legs as well. He quickly surveyed his friend's condition and noted, with what felt like a ton of weight lifted off of his shoulders, that they were serious but not life threatening in the least.

"Legolas…." Gimli groaned, shock and relief glittering in his eyes. Legolas carelessly threw the heavy and bloodied carcass aside and quickly looked over Gimli's legs, now that he could properly see them. His leg was bent in an awkward way, probably broken by the Uruk's fall. His faced was scratched and bruised badly, and there was a shallow but bleeding gash across Gimli's entire chest. 

"Stop worrying about me," the Dwarf insisted in a raspy voice, waving his hand impatiently as Legolas ripped a piece of cloth lying nearby, wrapping it around the Dwarf's chest. "Legolas….Aragorn…"

_Aragorn._

In his relief to see his Dwarven friend faring quite well, he had forgotten about Estel. Panic stricken, Legolas stood up and looked around. He was distraught to notice that within the sea of carcasses, there was not a single movement. "Aragorn! Estel!" he cried in vain, praying to the Valar that he would hear a response.

None came.

"Estel!"

Silence.

He jogged around the perimeter of the clearing, his eyes darting from one mangled body to the next. His stomach churned unpleasantly, his head throbbing with pain.

"Estel! Answer me!"

Only a heavy, tangible stillness answered him.

_He's already dead…_

"Estel!" he screamed. His voice shuddered as his throat became dry and raw.

_He's already dead…_

"Answer me!"

_The sun dawns red…he's already dead…_

Frantically searching, Legolas finally noticed, to his left, a dark-haired man lying face-down, sword drawn, his hair matted in both Uruk and human blood. Praying and hoping, he approached and gently turned the man over.

"Oh, Estel….." He had a heavy slash above his right eye, blood trickling from his mouth. As Legolas hastily looked at his other wounds, he noticed four slits of blood across his chest, all fairly deep wounds that had been made by an Uruk blade.

As Legolas bent forward and rest his head on Estel's chest for any sign of breathing, he felt the wet sticky gush of blood. He lifted his head and scanned his friend's body, searching for any possible explanation for all of the blood that saturated the Ranger's clothes. He prodded gently as he glided his hand's over Estel's chest, searching for blood or for a wound of any sort. Finally, as he lay his palm on Aragorn's stomach, right above his belt, he found the source of blood. Ripping open his shirt, he gasped in horror as he looked at the lesion.

He had been stabbed.

It had gone undeniably deep. Despite himself, Legolas moaned in grief, and covered the wound with his own hand, while propping Aragorn up with his other one until his friend's head rested on his right shoulder. With his left hand he squeezed the stab wound and pressed down, hoping to alleviate the swelling and the bleeding that could only be making him weaker.

"Estel….Estel…"

It was all Legolas could mutter. He chocked back tears, a lump forming in his throat, tears stinging his eyelids. 

"_N'uma_."

_He's already dead…_

"Please…"

_He's already dead…_

"Don't die…."

_He's already dead…_

"NO!"

Legolas's grief could not be contained any longer. It exploded like a firecracker, a gut-wrenching, torturous sound that resonated amongst the trees. 

_He's already dead…_

And Legolas sobbed as he realized that he was.

~*~

Uh oh.

Flamers, here I come.

Think you've heard it all? Just wait until next chapter…..

_Please_…I am begging you…_PLEASE _let me know what you think. Your reviews and critiques really do let me know what you are thinking. I would love to hear suggestions, criticisms, and maybe even flamers if you have a valid complaint.

See you next update….which, lucky for you, should be within the next couple of days.


	21. And Then There Was Light

**Disclaimer: **Do I own anything besides the afore mentioned characters of Halinor, Nahilor, Makalias, Adolin, and Emradril? Ummm….no, I don't think so….no. Most definitely not.

**A/N: **Many of my oh-so-awesome reviewers were shocked and saddened with my last update (except for you Gwyn you evil, evil person)…..but remember….I said that if you thought you've heard it all, you should wait until the next chapter?

Guess what: it's the next chapter.

And you are about to be surprised (although not necessarily pleasantly) with what comes next….

**The Shadow of Death**

_And Then There was Light_

Gandalf heard the cry from five hundred meters away. He could not tell of whom it belonged to, but it did not really matter. Gandalf could tell that it was a heart-tearing sob, full of pain, agony, and frustration. It echoed throughout the valleys and hills surrounding them, reaching the heavens and bringing sorrow to the hearts of all who heard it .

"Theoden!" Gandalf called as the king trotted to a halt beside Shadowfax. "There."

Theoden followed the Wizard's gaze to a cluster of trees barely over a mile in the distance. With no words shared between them, the king nodded and motioned for his scouts to follow them. They galloped with all possible anticipation and haste: they knew not what they would find. As they reached the cluster of trees, Gandalf felt solemn eagerness arise in his gut. Wasting no valuable second, he quickly dismounted and proceeded into the opaque and almost impenetrable underbrush. He heard the others follow in after him.

Gandalf used his staff to quickly push aside any stray branches that would hinder their ability to make haste. He could smell the dank forest floor, the various flowers, the musty air. He could see nothing but a blur of differing shades of green, brown, and russet. 

"_N'uma__."_

"Shhh!" Gandalf held up a hand and the band of scouts all went silent, freezing in their tracks. He closed his eyes in hope of heightening his senses, in order to hear the soft moan again, but heard no more. Perhaps it had only been his imagination…but it had been said so clearly…so emotionally. Gandalf shook his head in dismissal; he heard no more. Crestfallen, he lowered his hand and they continued on in their painstakingly unsuccessful rescue mission.

"Your highness!" The cry came from behind them, and Gandalf turned to see a young sandy-haired man pointing to their left.

"What do you see, Ronaldor?"

"Your highness…I …I…" The young man, Gandalf noticed, could barely be more than twenty years of age. The Wizard was alarmed to see that the man wore a troubled expression, and was actually trembling, his eyes wide and jaw slack.

"Ronaldor, what is it?" Gandalf asked, approaching the young man. Yet all Ronaldor was able to do now was point, shaking as if he were scared to death.

And as Gandalf looked to where he was pointing, he understood why.

A field of bodies, strewn everywhere as if by a windstorm, covered a clearing as far as they eye could see. Limbs, heads, blood, clothes, and weaponry were scattered. As Gandalf stood in disbelief next to Ronaldor, he heard the horror-struck moans from the scouts. There had been a massacre.

Out of his peripheral vision, Gandalf saw Theoden sprinting towards the battlefield at full speed. Gandalf took off after him, worried that perhaps some Uruks were left, basking in their sadistic glory. However his fears of the Uruks were put aside as he reached the clearing; he heard no alarming sounds. Only the hush produced by a vast ocean of bodies greeted his ears.

The sight made him nauseous.

As Gandalf turned to look at Theoden, the King had dropped to his knees, dumbfounded. The powerful atrocity of which he had just viewed had subdued him. His mind went blank, his body went numb, and his face fell. Gandalf approached the man, and put a hand on his shoulder, but said nothing, for there were no words of comfort, not any kind of terminology, that could possibly hope to ease this man's pain.

_"N'uma."_

This time the utterance was unmistakably real. Gandalf turned to his right, where he felt the sound came from. Astonished, he noticed that there sat a man with long black hair, holding another. Gandalf strode quickly to where these two men were. The man who was not dead knelt rocking back and forth, mumbling in between rugged gasps for air. The other man in his arms, apparently dead, laid limp and bleeding. But since the living man's back was facing him, he couldn't tell who they were.

"He is dead, Gandalf."

The Wizard stopped in his tracks, his mouth gaping ever so slightly. Who was this living man? How did he know the sound of his footsteps?

"Friend, turn to me. I cannot see your face."

"He is dead."

"Turn, friend."

"He is gone. Do you not understand?"

Gandalf did not hear anger in his voice, but a passive grief unlike anything he had ever encountered before. This man had been worn down, unmercifully, and Gandalf wondered how this ever happened. "I understand you, but I cannot see you. Please, trust me, my friend. Turn around."

The living man stopped rocking. "It is good_ you understand, __mellonin, for I do not. Nor will I ever."_

_Elvish__ words, Gandalf thought to himself. __He is using Elvish words…He approached the speaker, and was about to lay his hand on his shoulder to turn him when he voluntarily turned himself.__ This was no man speaking: it was an elf. An elf who had pale white skin, muddy brown eyes, with a sharp contrast of blood, which was smeared across his face. This elf had been through unimaginable suffering; it was apparent in his voice, his posture, his eyes. This elf's hair was shoulder-length and black, with bits of bark and leaves entangled in his main.___

It was Legolas.

Gandalf could not prevent himself from gawking. He stood there, like a fish out of water, unnerved at the change that had begot his friend. The last time he saw his Elvish friend, he had been almost completely an orc; perhaps not in attitude, but in regards to physical attributes. Now, he looked exactly like himself: except for his white skin, dark, pained eyes, and jet black hair. 

"_Legolas_._"_

"He is dead, Gandalf."

"Of whom do you speak?"

"He is dead." Obviously, the elf was still in shock and could not bring himself to face the question just as he had struggled to bring himself to face the reality. Gandalf realized this, so he stepped forward and leaned over his shoulder to look into the face of the victim.

_Estel__._

He rushed forward, and reached for Estel, but Legolas recoiled, bringing his fallen friend closer to him and leaning away from the Wizard, a peculiar look of betrayal gleaming across his face.

"Legolas, give him to me. He requires Healing, and fast."

"He is dead."

"No, Legolas, that cannot be for sure. You know the expertise of the Healers sent to us from Lothlorien. They can help him. Please, just give him to me."

"You're going to take him away from me."

"What?" Gandalf was utterly perplexed. Why was he acting like this?

"You're going to take him away from me. Like Haldir was taken away from me. Like _Amme was taken away from me. Like Emradril was taken away from me. Like my brethren at Helm's Deep were taken away from me."_

An extremely loud pause permeated the air.

Gandalf knew not what to say. Appearance-wise, the elf seemed to be getting undeniably better; why, then, would he not let him help Estel?

Choosing his words carefully, but knowing Aragorn had very little time left to survive, Gandalf answered, "Haldir, your _Amme_, Emradril, and your brethren at Helm's Deep were taken away from you because they were killed. If you delay us anymore, Legolas, Aragorn will die. _Then_ he will truly be taken away from you…forever."

The elf winced. A flush of color came back into his cheeks; the very life source that had been removed from him only moments before seemed to seep back into his soul. He peered down at the perhaps dead friend limp and bleeding in his arms, then looked decidedly up at Gandalf. "Promise me he's not dead."

"Legolas, I can't-"

"Promise me, Gandalf."

As Gandalf looked into Legolas's eyes, he could tell the prince knew what was at stake. But Legolas also knew his boundaries: he needed a word of reassurance. Words of encouragement came too seldom during times of destruction, but were needed to provide Legolas's soul with some sort of rejuvenation. Gandalf knew both Legolas and Estel's lives were at stake…and if words of pledge would guarantee the life of at least one of them, then by the Valar, he would give it. "I promise, _mellonin__."_

With tears in his eyes, Legolas released his grip on Aragorn, and felt a great pressure being lifted off of his hands as Gandalf carried him to the band of scouts. He looked down at his tunic and noticed blood drenching the once clean, green cloth. It had dried on his hands. He could smell it, taste it, feel it…

_Gimli__.___

"Gandalf!" Standing up, he turned and saw, to his relief, the Wizard still remained there. He was speaking to Thranduil, who had a dazed look on his face, but a solemn one at that.

When he turned, Legolas called, "Gimli….."

The Wizard nodded, and he knew that the scouts had already found him. He heard the sound of two horses galloping off at full speed; Legolas knew that these riders took Estel and Gimli back to Helm's Deep. Tears in his eyes and physically trembling, Legolas looked at his surroundings. There had been no other survivors.

_The sun dawns red…_

His logic had been correct. The sun dawned red with the blood of Rohan. 

_The sun dawns red…_

There had been an undeniable massacre. It lingered in the air, mixing with the floral scent of nature. Legolas could sense torture, pain, and mortality surrounding him, infesting his soul and drowning his heart. 

_The sun dawns red…_

These brave souls had died fighting for their freedom, for their homes, for their families, for Middle Earth….for them all.

_The sun dawns red…_

These men would never see the sun rise, the moon glow, the stars shine. They were gone from this earth forever. They had left….

_They're already dead..._

But they had not died in vain.

_They're already dead…_

They had died for Middle Earth's sake….

_They're already dead…_

They had died for a cause greater than any of them.

_They're already dead…_

Legolas owed it to these brave men…he owed his life to them.

_They're already dead…_

They died so he could live.

_They're already dead…_

And live he would.

~*~

Ok……**_I HIT 100 REVIEWS!_** I am so happy….this is great. I love you guys…I came home from school and noticed Konjurer's review in my mail box….that means that Konjurer is my 100th reviewer!!!! Thanks!!!

What do you think about this chapter? It was a hard one to write…but hopefully it satisfied some of those who were confused.

Now, to address all of my _mellonin__…_

**Silvertoekee****: Here's your update! I'm glad you enjoyed my cliffhanger…hopefully this chapter had a good one too.**

**Ding: **I will definitely keep on writing! I hope you continue your updates..it's always nice to have new readers.

**Randomramblings****: Do I really sound that professional? Wow, I'm blushing! ;-*  I thought it would be good to add to the rhythm of the story. I also thought it would be a good insight into the head of our lovable elf. Keep up the awesome reviews!**

**Nelinde****: I know, that was pretty cruel wasn't it? Do you still think Aragorn's dead? I still haven't made that completely clear….I don't know….looks like you'll have to stay tuned to find out!**

**Stacee**** Phelps: Thanks! I know, I'm a self-admitted Aragorn-lover too. It was hard….but did I really kill him off? Stay tuned…**

**Gwyn****: You're just so evil. Grinning when Aragorn dies. But remember: being evil is highly underrated. Glad you love the angst! You're right…this is now officially an A/U story!!!**

**The Dark Rogue: **You know, I was actually thinking about that as my ending barely a week before? Hmm…you've got some telepathy going on, I think. Well, maybe I'll still kill Legolas off…who knows? I know that'd make you extremely happy.

**Tree Nymph: **Yes, it was a rather unexpected twist…but I like 'em like that…and hopefully you do too! I'm also glad you like my repetition…I thought it added to some of the drama and angst in these chapters. Thanks for the reviews! ;-D

**Ankhesanamun****: Yep…I hate Emradril too. But he's actually getting much better now…he's off in a corner somewhere. Whatever. As long as he doesn't interrupt my train of thought while I'm writing. Wow…you're friend had a dream she was dating Legolas? I think most of us ladies have all had that one….**

**Elentari**** Manwe: Thanks so much for your review! I noticed you want me to bring Aragorn back and Legolas return to normal? It looks like you're a lover of happy endings…I love happy endings. Will I make this one a happy one? Wait and see…**

**Konjurer****: YOU HAVE MADE MY WEEK. You're awesome review really brought a smile to my face. I have spent a lot of time on this story, and I am so glad to see that you love it so much! Your review really made me want to write to the best of my ability, so I hope you love this chapter! I just got your second review…and it put me up to 100 reviews! You're the best, you really are. But wait! Here's your update…I updated today especially for you, since you loved this story so much. In regards to your opinions about what Aragorn was thinking about: I actually considered putting his thoughts on Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli, and Boromir in. However, I think since he was facing death, and since he wanted to waste no time in charging the Uruks, he would only think of Arwen. I think that when someone faces the probability of death, they think of their loved ones of whom they haven't seen in a while. Not to say that Aragorn doesn't love Legolas and Gimli and Gandalf as friends, but it just seemed appropriate to use only Arwen in his thoughts. But thanks for the input…I'll see what everyone else thinks, and I'll think more about it myself! Maybe I'll change it….but this update is dedicated to you! ;-D**

Thanks to all of my reviewers. You guys are great. I am now at **100 reviews**….sorry, I can't seem to get over that. Love ya all, _mellonin__._


	22. Glimmering Emotions

**Disclaimer: **I own none of the canonical characters. Ouch, that was painful. So don't ask me to say that again.

**A/N: **I am getting an overwhelming response from my readers…so thank you so much. It really means a lot to me. This chapter was particularly hard for me to write. It is very emotional…so those of you who are as sensitive as I am should take note. I hope I don't make anyone cry….but I can't promise anything. Enjoy….

****

**The Shadow of Death**

****

_Glimmering  Emotions___

Her patience was growing thin…..fast. She had sat in the same spot atop the Impenetrable Wall at Helm's Deep for at least two days. She did not remain there, but found herself wandering up there to stare out into the horizon. As she looked over the lands, she thought of her brother, Eomer, her uncle, Theoden, her friends, Gimli, Legolas, and Aragorn….

_Aragorn is a friend? _The wry thought came to her mind. No, she thought of him more than a friend…but he did not return her feelings. Thus, he was just a friend._ It is not that simple, she told herself.__ And it wasn't.___

Feelings were complexities within complications. Just when she thought she knew all of her thoughts, she was proven wrong. Just as when she was assured that she felt nothing more for Aragorn than friendship, her feelings told her otherwise. But her love for Aragorn would have to end. He loved Arwen, had always loved her, and would always love her. She remembered the longing in his voice when he said her name, the look of pure comfort when he spoke of her. Eowyn promised herself that she would not get bitter, for bitterness did nothing but corrode the heart. Nevertheless, she was finding that particular feeling harder and harder to control.

These thoughts weighed down her already dejected mood, so she shoved them aside. Her main purpose was to look out for any band of scouts who rode back to the fort for aid, and to tend to their wounded as soon as possible. There would undoubtedly be wounded from Aragorn's band…

_What if Aragorn is one of them?_

Those dreadful, pessimistic thoughts pushed their way into her mind, despite her desperate attempts of blockading them. 

_What if he is hurt?_

_What if he couldn't be found?_

_What if he is captured?_

_What if he is _dead.

Eowyn closed her eyes, keeping her mixed emotions in check. He wouldn't be hurt. He would be found, and alive at that. His valiance as a warrior was known, his determination unmistakable. He would return in good health, and Eowyn would be there to greet him.

As she opened her eyes, her heart almost leapt to her throat. She saw two riders approaching, galloping at full speed. Directly behind them came, what seemed to be, two bands of scouts. Her eyes narrowed, wondering why the two bands were traveling together. But this was all of no consequence as soon as she realized the two afore riders were carrying one wounded soldier each, hanging limply in the riders' grasps. She rushed down the stairs as fast as she could, her heart pounding. She lost her balance and almost slipped, but regained her poise in time to continue running down the stairs at full speed. Finally, she emerged from the fort, pushing open the once-barricaded doors wide. The riders were much nearer now, though she could still not make out the faces of the two wounded. She ran forward to meet them, and was relieved to spot her uncle only perhaps twenty meters away. He looked to be uninjured.

"What injuries do these wounded carry?" called Eowyn, still rushing forward. The two riders came to meet her, and both carefully dismounted with both of the wounded in their arms. Immediately, she knew one was Gimli. His short and bloodied form groaned in misery as he was delicately lifted down into the scout's awaiting grasp. She rushed toward him, and immediately noticed his wounds must be terribly painful, but were not life threatening. "Get him to the infirmary, where Halinor now sleeps. It is in the third chamber down the main passageway. I shall be there shortly to tend to his wounds. Make sure to bring me clean cloth with a bucket of clean water. But be gentle with him, for he has lost much blood." The soldier nodded with a solemn expression and, with Gimli in his arms, walked as quickly as he could without causing discomfort to the injured Dwarf. After seeing that the scout knew his way to the infirmary, she turned to the other injured man, whom his rider had placed on the ground.

Eowyn rushed forward and mechanically stated, "What injuries does he…"

She stopped in mid-sentence. She gasped, her hands to her face, as she noticed who this injured man was.

_Aragorn._

He was hurt. He was bleeding. He was unconscious. He was not moving. She could not see him breathing. His face was pale. He was badly bruised, as if he had been beaten….

"…my Lady?"

Eowyn could slightly hear the scout call to her. But he sounded as if his voice traveled to her through a vacuum, so it did not register in her mind.

"My Lady."

Thoughts raced. Her vision blurred until she could no longer make out anything happening around her. Then her mind went blank, her body went numb. She felt as though she were going to faint.

_"My Lady_."

Eowyn shuddered. Her brain took note of the pleading voice of the scout. Her eyes came back into focus, her ears once again picking up sound. She looked to the scout in a dazed and pleading fashion. "My Lady, do you wish to know his injuries?" 

Glad that the scout had reminded her of where to begin, Eowyn said dumbly, "Yes."

"He is terribly wounded, my Lady. He stopped breathing at least three times on the ride back here. He looked as if he had been specifically brutalized by the Uruks. He has suffered sufficient incisions and gashes. But his most serious wound is his stab wound in the abdomen." As Eowyn knelt down beside him, she moved aside a piece of white cloth that had been placed over his stab wound to quell the bleeding. It was now completely saturated, and crimson blood dripped over her hands as she removed the cloth. He was still bleeding: it was not a good sign.

"Take him to the Healers, and fast. He has lost blood, and has no time to waste. They shall know what to do with him. Do you know where the Healers reside in the fort?"

At the soldier's nod, she urged him, "Go, and make haste. His life hangs but by a thread. GO!" The soldier swiftly picked the son of Arathorn and put him over his shoulder. She watched as they ascended the stairs to Helm's Deep, in the direction of the Healers.

_Elbereth__, please help him…_

"Eowyn, do not cry." Turning around to face Gandalf, she was suddenly aware that she had been weeping. They traveled silently down her face, making clean ridges where there had been dirt and blood from tending to Halinor. She carelessly wiped them away.

"Are the other wounded coming?" Gandalf looked down, apparently avoided her eyes. He remained silent. "Gandalf, where are the other wounded?"

"There were no other wounded."

This statement would have otherwise lifted a great weight from her shoulders. But the way Gandalf had said it scared her beyond belief. It was seeping with regret and sadness, as well as a reluctance to tell her. "Gandalf, please," she pleaded, "what do you mean?"

Pause. Then: "None of the others survived."

Eowyn's mouth hung open and a cry of despair departed from her lips. She desperately looked to her uncle for confirmation. He simply sat on his horse, his head down, his face limp. So it was true. There were no other survivors. "But…but there must have been twenty-five men under Aragorn's command. They were skilled warriors."

Gandalf knew Eowyn made excuses for no one but herself. Denial was the first step towards complete grief. Thus, he let her continue.

"Gandalf were you sure there were no others alive?"

"Yes."

"Did you check them?"

"Yes."

"There is no possibility…." Eowyn could not finish, for a great and unexpected sob emerged from her chest. Gandalf approached her and embraced her, for fear that she would faint. He could feel her shudder with sobs. He could feel the hot tears of pain soak his now dirtied white robes. He wished he could offer her words of comfort, but he could not find any to give. So he just held tightly to her, praying to the Valar to bring her comfort and relinquish her from despair. He saw the other scouts dismount and walk silently towards Helm's Deep. Not only had they failed in their mission, but had lost twenty-five of their fellow companions to complete carnage. Vengeance had brought them nothing but more death and pain. This realization struck their souls hard.

Gandalf held her until her sobbing had died down. Eventually she looked up at Gandalf. Her once glimmering blue eyes were now red and blood-shot. They held no glimmer, no hope, no comfort or joy. They were like vacant passageways through a dark forest.  "I-I must g-go tend to Gimli," gasped Eowyn. She had been crying so hard it was painful to speak. 

"Are you ok?"

"Y-yes."

Gandalf nodded. "Very well. If you need me, come to me. I am always here, Eowyn."

Eowyn's attempt at smiling failed miserably. It only caused more tears to swipe down her now flushed cheeks. She nodded, for she could not find her voice. She quickly turned and rushed off towards the fort.

"How does she fare?" Gandalf thought he was alone, and the voice behind him startled him greatly. He turned to see the elf, staring down at the ground.

"Why didn't you ask her yourself?"

Legolas shook his head, his silky black mane waving with the movement of his head. "I had not the voice to." Gandalf remained silent, so Legolas continued. "I should have been there, Gandalf. I should have been informed of this mission to destroy the Uruks. I would have gone with."

"You were in no condition to go anywhere."

Legolas paused, but remained looking at the ground until he spoke. "It is my fault-"

"Stop this nonsense, _Thranduilion." The forcefulness with which Gandalf spoke this surprised even himself. But he could not let Legolas fall deeper into despair; he was finally emerging, but could easily submerge once more._

"It is not nonsense." The anger in Legolas's voice was not purposefully interjected, but notable nonetheless. The elf looked up into Gandalf's eyes and said, "I swore on my life that I would help the Fellowship to the death. I did not help them when the Uruks attacked. I was not even there. I was crippled of my own doing, self-indulgent in guilt, locked up in some chamber crying for myself. It is shameful, Mithrandir."

The self-loathing apparent in Legolas's voice was alarming, so Gandalf chose his words carefully once again. "The Fellowship is fractured; it no longer exists. All that exists is your friendship with Aragorn and Gimli. You have honored that friendship well beyond many that I have seen. It is not your fault that they were injured any more than it is their fault you fell into shadow."

Legolas let this statement churn in his mind. "Whose idea was it to pursue the Uruks?"

"Theoden's."

Legolas looked up at Mirthrandir. He simply nodded, then walked with haste towards Helm's Deep. As Gandalf watched the elf ascend the steps towards the Impenetrable Wall, he had second thoughts about telling Legolas whose idea it truly was.

~*~

Theoden sat silently, alone in his makeshift quarters. It was eerily silent. There was no talking, no sounds of fire burning brightly, no supplies being brought in, no sound of children playing.

Nothing.

He shook his head. The idea had seemed so perfect, so flawless. The Uruk army had been disbanded and had been broken apart. Their chain of command had been splintered and they were disorganized. He wanted revenge for those who died; he had seen his men cut down mercilessly, he had been witness to pure sadism. He wished to do unto the Uruks as they had done unto his people, but to his dismay, it had been a miserable failure. The scouting band traveling West had been completely annihilated. They would have returned the bodies to the now mourning families, but they didn't know which parts of them to bring back…

His men hadn't been valiantly killed: they had been butchered. It looked as though the Uruks had tortured them, cutting of their limbs systematically. Some had been beaten to pulps, others dismembered completely. Some were unrecognizable, others he did not wish to recognize.It was a hellish sight. 

And it was all his fault.

Without preamble, his oak doors opened. Glancing up, he saw the now-dark-haired elf approach him brusquely and silently. Theoden stood up. "I do not wish to have visitors. This is not the time-" Legolas reached and grabbed onto Theoden's throat. The king struggled helplessly against the muscular elf as he was thrown against the wall. Legolas did not let go of him.

"I care naught for your _wishes_, your _Highness._" He spoke the last as if it were an absolutely disgusting and distasteful word. Theoden struggled to force the elf to release his breathtaking grip on his neck. He felt his face flush red with blood, and found it harder and harder to breathe. 

"Your ignorance and greed has caused the massacre and injury of twenty-five men, two of whom happen to be my friends. Do you understand?" Theoden nodded, but Legolas did not loosen his grasp. 

The king saw Eowyn walk into the room and give a cry of surprise. "Do you hear the sobs of the families in mourning? Do you hear the cries of pain and anguish from their widows? From their parents? From their siblings? Do you see their hopeless faces, hollow and bare as if there were naught to live for?"

His grasp was tightening, and Theoden began to feel light-headed. "How can you deserve to live when you have caused the death of so many?"

Eowyn rushed forward, and put a hand on Legolas's shoulder. "Legolas."

Her voice was surprisingly calm. He looked down at her, and could see her eyes were puffy with tears. Yet they were pleading, and he knew she had been caused great pain. He did not wish to cause her more. Reluctantly, he let go of the king's throat. He sank to the floor, gasping for air. Eowyn tore her eyes from the elf and knelt down beside him.

"I…I shall….I shall have your neck…for this, elf!" huffed the king, still struggling to regain his breath.

"I care not." His voice was subdued, nonchalant. He had been drained of all emotion.

The king shouted for his guards, but none came. 

Ignoring the king's yells for help, he spoke, his emotions finally returning to him in waves that nearly drowned him. "Look at me, Theoden. LOOK AT ME!" Theoden looked at the elf, an expression of bitter humiliation spread evenly across his regal face. "Look at what I have become! Do you see naught? My lust for vengeance turned a blind eye to the ones I care the most for. I have destroyed myself, and I have caused the pain and suffering of those whom I love the greatest!"

Tears of frustration and self-hatred rolled down the elf's face in great waves. The sight of a friend in such despair greatly moved Eowyn, but frightened her as well. "Has my downfall taught you nothing? Do I fall into shadow in vain? Will no one learn from my self-destruction? Vengeance is a snake. It hides in the grass, waiting for an injured animal to bite. It injects its poison slowly at first, but eventually kills its prey. Do not fall victim to it, Theoden. Do not kill yourself and cause pain to your loved ones as I have."

Legolas fought hard to hold back the tears. His eyes stung, for never in his whole life had he cried so hard for so long. He just stood there, like a lost child, knowing not what to do. Eowyn stood up and walked towards him, putting her hands on his cheeks, forcing him to look down at her. They were smoothing, comforting, and warm. He looked down into her eyes, which were now clouded with tears. She whispered, "You have not fallen into shadow in vain. You have suffered much, and you shall suffer still. But you have done naught in vain."

She pecked him on the lips, and rested her forehead against his. "You have done naught in vain," she repeated, her own tears now descending her porcelain face. He was overcome with emotion at her tenderness and caring. But he finally managed to whisper two words. 

"_Falan_ tar."____

~*~

For those of you who are as Elvish illiterate as I am, _Falan__ tar means "thank you"._

Whew. This chapter certainly did exhaust me. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I think I know pretty much where I am going with this story.

For your Leggy lovers and Eowyn haters, don't get all upset until I explain. There is nothing, I repeat _nothing_ going on between them. They have simply become such good friends, and were both so overcome with emotion, that it seemed an appropriate thing to do.

Let me know if you disagree.

I hope this chapter put you on an emotional rollercoaster, because as I was writing it, it did for me.

Fanfiction.net is being a …. Um….brat again. So it won't let me upload all of my personal thank-yous to my reviewers. So thank you all…you will have your personal thanks next chappy!

Thanks so much…..up to 115 reviews! I'm SOOO flattered… I love ya, _mellonin._


	23. Dusk Before Dawn

**Disclaimer: **Yep, same old stuff goes here. Insert here all of the disclaimers from the twenty-two previous chapters, and you'll get the idea. 

**A/N: **Alright, guys….it finally happened: I'm home sick. I have this terrible cough, terrible headache, terrible fever….I feel so….blah. I definitely cannot concentrate on homework, so I decided to write the next chapter, considering final exams are coming up and I won't have time to update in probably a week and a half. I hope this chapter is to your liking…if it's not, gimme a break: I'm sick (but you could definitely constructively criticize me) ;-D Enjoy.

**The Shadow of Death**

****

_Dusk Before Dawn_

"Put me down! Argh….put me down! Can your thick brain not understand me? I said put….me….down!"

Gimli's cries echoed throughout Helm's Deep as the scout carried him towards the infirmary. He wriggled and writhed, trying to escape his helper's grasp. He hated feeling incapacitated and helpless. And that was exactly how he felt.

"Human, for the last time…." Gimli started. He was still trying to loosen the grasp of his carrier, of to no avail. But he had to at least _try_ to look like he was being stubborn. After all, he was a Dwarf. "I am fine! This is nonsense…I have two legs, do I not? I can walk by myself. Confound it, human! Put me down!" Anyone who heard Gimli's complaints would have thought they were made out of pure aggravation, when in fact, he used them to hide his fear. He had seen Aragorn fighting five Uruks at once….they all seemed to congregate around him, as if he were their one true enemy….

_He had seen that one Uruk staring hungrily at Aragorn for quite a while. He just stood there, cutting down every scout who came near him, as if they were nothing but flies being swatted at. He barely even moved. But all the while, he never took his eyes off of Aragorn. It was as if he was planning his brutal plot, making sure it was flawless._

_Without warning, he attacked._

_Gimli__ screamed to Aragorn as loud as he could to turn around. He remembered Aragorn turning to look at him, a puzzled expression on his face. He had screamed his message again, and this time Aragorn understood. He swirled around, in fighting stance, ready to take on his foe. _

_Too late.___

_The Uruk lunged at the Ranger, knocking him to the ground. Gimli desperately wanted to run to Aragorn's side, but felt a burning sensation across his chest. He looked down and noticed that scarlet blood trickled over his armor. He looked up to see a smiling Uruk, holding his sword up high, ready to take another blow to the Dwarf. But his small size was to his advantage. He lunged out of the way, tucking and rolling out of the Uruk's reach. Still holding his axe, he stood up, knees bent, jaw set. "Come and get me you smelly son of a bastard," he snarled, narrowing his eyes._

_The Uruk charged, and Gimli stood his ground. Gimli felt a sharp pain travel up and down his left leg, followed by a sickening cracking sound as the beast knocked him to the ground. He knew his leg was broken. So running was out of the question._

_He had to fight to the death._

_He could smell his opponent's foul breath, taste his own sweat pouring down his face, see those ugly and terrifying eyes staring at him, anxiously awaiting to draw Dwarven blood. Gimli was pinned down, spread eagled on the forest floor. His axe was perhaps five inches from his right hand; unreachable, for the Uruk's weight was too heavy. Gimli struggled uselessly as the Uruk laughed. It was a sickening, terrifying laugh that Gimli knew he would not forget for as long as he lived._

_Which might not be long unless he figured out what to do.___

_Finally, using all of his anger, fear, and frustration, Gimli kicked the Uruk as hard as he could in the groin. The beast roared in anger and pain, slightly letting go of the Dwarf. Gimli wasted no time. He reached for his axe and swung it as high and hard as he could. It impaled itself on the Uruk's back, who did not make a sound. He merely stared at him, eyes wide, mouth gaping. He tensed, but then suddenly relaxed. He slouched down on top of Gimli, who could feel the warmth and see the dark blood of the Uruk gushing from his back, cascading like a tainted waterfall onto Gimli's legs and abdomen. Gimli was paralyzed by the weight of the dead beast. He could not see, for he was on the outskirts of the fighting, but he could hear it. He could hear the terrified screams, the whimpers of pain, the cries of tortured men. He could hear swords clashing, Uruks snarling, bodies hitting the ground with a revolting thud. He tried to block out these sounds. He could not bare to lay there helplessly while his fellow scouts were being slaughtered like cattle._

_But he had no other choice._

_So he lay there, and listened to the sounds of dying men around him. Some called for their mothers, others their wives and children, all of whom they would never see again. Others cried out in absolute body-crippling pain. But most simply lay in a pool of their own blood, waiting for death to approach, wordless and hopeless, only letting the occasional moan of grief depart from their mouths._

_It was the most terrible time in Gimli's life._

_He lay there for perhaps two days, listening to the lives of men dwindling away. The cries got quieter, the rustle of movement ceased. Soon there was no sound to be heard. The silence horrified Gimli. The silence was a sign that there were no survivors…_

_Aragorn.___

_"Aragorn."__ What was meant to be a cry came out as a husky and ragged whisper. Trying desperately to get a response from his friend, Gimli tried again. "Aragorn." But once again, the intended call came out as a sigh. He could not muster strength to call it louder. A strange stinging sensation began in Gimli's eyes and across the bridge of his nose. He reached up to rub them, knowing not what caused the sensation._

_They were tears._

_He had not cried in what seemed like forever. Even at the tomb of his fallen cousin, Balin, he had not cried. But he wept now for his fellow brethren in arms who lived no more. He cried for their loved ones who would never see them again. He cried for fear of Aragorn, not knowing whether his friend still breathed life. He cried for them all. _

But now he refused to cry. He was too scared, too humiliated, too shocked. As the scout carried him down a cold corridor, the pain began in his chest, the same one that had rendered him unable to call for Aragorn. _Not again_, the Dwarf pleaded, clenching his jaw and squinting his eyes closed. The pain was immense; it seemed to resonate throughout his entire body. It came in short spurts, but they were so painful that Gimli had the urge to cry out.

But he wouldn't. He was a Dwarf, and Dwarves didn't cry out for anything.

  
He suddenly felt the scout change positions. He felt a cold surface against his back, and noticed that he had been laid, face up, onto a cold chamber floor. The scout covered him in a blanket, assured him that he would be back, and walked out of the chamber. "Damn it all…" Gimli groaned as quietly as he could muster. He looked around and noticed that he was not the only one in the room. A man, apparently asleep, lay in the opposite corner of the room, wrapped in blankets with a make-shift pillow of straw under his red hair.

Gimli stared at the ceiling. He had never felt so damn inefficient in his life. It was disconcerting, annoying, and downright degrading.

He struggled to sit up in hopes of proving himself not as useless as he felt he was, but the pain came back in a wave of immensity that took his breath away. He carefully laid back down, unwilling to move now. He struggled to catch his breath and inhaled deeply to prevent himself from vomiting. He took slow, profound breaths and closed his eyes.

But all he could see was Aragorn. All he could see was blood splattered, all he could hear were cries of anguish, all he could smell was the foul breath of the Uruk. It was of no use: Gimli could not push the evils of the past days out of his mind. And even as he tried, his mind was taken away from the Ranger and he was transported back to the battlefield, where he, again, lay injured and in pain, listening to the voices and groans of men who would soon depart this earth. It had been a battle that he would never forget in his long life; it had intensely changed him, and not necessarily for the better. 

He was relieved when whispers in the corridor outside of his room disturbed his hellish thoughts. One seemed to be a female voice, the other a male. They were speaking in hushed voices, and he desperately tried to strain his ears in an attempt to hear their words.

"…..Healers….trying to help…..don't know if they can do anything…."

"…they must be able....he cannot be…..how could they not help…."

Gimli could only catch fragments of their conversation, but it abruptly stopped. He heard footsteps growing nearer, and was pleasantly surprised to see Eowyn in the doorway. Her face was lined with worry, and it looked as if she had been crying for an awfully long time. But she mustered a weak yet fair smile when she noticed the Dwarf was awake.

She came over and knelt down beside him, a bucket of water and white clean cloth in her hands.

"Gimli, where does the pain ache the most?"

He gestured to his abdomen, and she nodded in comprehension. She slowly removed his armor, using the wet clean cloth to clean his wounds and soak up the extract blood.

"My Lady…." Gimli breathed, desperately fighting against the pain.

"Shh, Gimli. You are in no condition to speak."

He shook his head. "No….I must know….."

"Gimli, rest." She put a hand on his shoulder, but he peered at her with pleading eyes.

"Aragorn?"  It was all he managed to say, but he knew she would understand. A look of pure sadness and worry dashed across her beautiful face. She bit her lower lip, and hastily dunked a piece of cloth into the refreshingly cold water. It was a movement made out of desperation.

"Do not concern yourself with the well-beings of others. You must concentrate on healing yourself." She continued to clean his wounds, her touch gentle and patient. But again, the Dwarf shook his head.

"Tell….me…."

Eowyn stopped and stared at Gimli's forehead. He noticed she was avoiding his eyes.

"He is fine. The Healers are working on him. He should be well shortly."

"You are…..bad liar…."

She struggled to choke back tears, so she bit her lower lip again. Gimli could tell from her body language and her reluctance to tell him the truth that Aragorn's situation did not fare well. He sighed, which hurt even more, but he did take notice. He was so concerned for Aragorn, Gimli did not notice the dark-haired elf standing in the doorway, silently observing his condition.

~*~

"I want his head on a plate!"

Gandalf sat with his head down, silently but respectfully listening to the rantings and ravings of Theoden. "He dare come into _my chambers, threaten _my_ life, and then try to strangle me?" The king had a wild look about him, and paced back and forth in his chamber, shaking his head. He stopped, then pointed at Gandalf. "And you dare defend him?"_

"He is ill."

"I don't care if he's dying. He almost killed me, Gandalf!"

Theoden noticed Gandalf flinch at the word _dying_, but took no importance from it. He was so outraged, so thoroughly embarrassed, that he didn't know what to do with himself.

"You do not understand-"

"Alright, perhaps I don't. All I understand is that a crazy, mindless elf comes strolling into my chambers, throws me against the wall, and threatens to strangle me. I don't need to understand anymore, Gandalf. He is a threat to our safety."

"Your niece didn't seem to think so."

Theoden took in a sharp breath. He had seen the tenderness between them, and he knew she must care greatly for him. It had scared him beyond belief. "She is distraught. She knew not what she did."

The Wizard looked up at Theoden, a stony expression on his face. "Theoden, you must accept the fact that Legolas has been through much. He has witnessed a vast amount of death, of which elves are not particularly accustomed to. Two of his friends are badly wounded, and one might not survive the night…." Gandalf stopped, took a deep breath, and continued. "You must understand his misery. He lost his self-control…it was not intentional."

"Whether it was intentional or not is of no consequence. If he lost his self-discipline once, he could lose it again. I do not want Eowyn around him. I do not want _anyone around him, for that matter. He is unpredictable and unsafe. I want him gone."_

"No."

Theoden stared in disbelief. "What did you say?"

"I said no."

"Lest you forget, Gandalf the White, this is _my fort, with __my people in it to protect. If I feel the elf is unsafe, it is __my decision, and no one else's, to send him away. His lack of restraint is shameful."_

Gandalf stood up and folded his arms in front of him, placing his staff against the wall to his left. "You are correct, Theoden. This is _your_ fort, with _your _people in it to protect. Just remember, that even though this mess is all _your responsibility, Legolas, of his own free will, helped to defend _your_ fort and _your_ people. His determination to help you and your people is what might very well kill him in the next days." Theoden could sense the rising anger in Gandalf's voice and slowly felt extremely claustrophobic. "So lest __you forget, your Highness, Legolas voluntarily gave his life to you. And just because he dare speak the truth to you, you have the nerve to send him away and care nothing for his well-being. That, Theoden, is shameful."_

Without another word, and with Theoden still gaping, Gandalf grabbed his staff and walked out of the room, slamming the oak doors behind him.

~*~

Yay! Gandalf told off Theoden! I think this part of the story might amuse some of you Theoden haters out there (yes, like you, Dark Rogue)

And now, here are my personal thank yous!

**Silvertoekee****: Thanks for the compliments, chica. This wasn't much of a cliffhanger, but I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for the reviews!**

**Mouse: **Thanks so much for your admiration. Also, thanks for finally reviewing! I'm glad you feel like my portrayal of Legolas's feelings are accurate. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

**MoroTheWolfGod****: Here's your "more"!**

**The Dark Rogue: **I am going to make sure your reviews hit fifty. As soon as I find time, I will most definitely read and review your stories….I promise! And I would be honored to be on your website…thank you so much! Wow, I see you hate Eowyn and Theoden…you even hate Arwen! I hope my chapters haven't caused you to become violent….and thanks for putting me on your favorites list…I really appreciate it.

**Gwyn****: Alright. You're correct: to write angst, one does need a sadistic side. It's a lucky thing I only WRITE it, and not practice it. Thanks for the reviews! Keep 'em coming!**

**Ankhesanamun****: I'm glad I found someone else who loves oxy-morons! I love them too! Thanks for the reviews…I hoped you liked this chapter!**

**Nelinde****: Thank you for reviewing again, hun! I know I didn't resolve the conflict of Aragorn's death yet…that's for next chapter! *grins evilly***

**Elentari**** Manwe: Firstly, thank you so much for putting me on your favorites list. I am honored….;-D Secondly, you'll be glad to know that this ending will either be a happy one or an angsty one….so you win either way.**

**Mydogisfudge****: I know, I didn't say what Aragorn's fate is yet. But that's next chappy! Thanks for reviewing, and here's your update!**

**Granny ****Adams****: I hope you slept well last night after reading my fic. And thank you SO much for putting me on your favorites list…I am very flattered. Here's an update…but don't read it late at night!**

**Lady Pheonix Star: **err…I mean her editor, Twisted Fool. Thanks for the review! I'm glad you like it. And I would HAPPILY give you Emradril to use in any of your stories. But make sure to bring lots of rope though…he's strong, and pretty feisty. We might have to tie him up and stick an apple in his mouth to prevent him from complaining. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

**Orangeblossom**** Took: Thanks for reviewing, even in the midst of Grad school! I'm glad you enjoyed it….even though it _is a tragic outcome of Theoden's lust for vengeance. I hope you enjoyed this chappy as well!_**

**White Wolf: **No, you're not shallow….you just have different priorities. ;-D Thanks so much for the review! I'm enjoying your story as well…so I hope you post soon! I don't know if this chapter was as much of a rollercoaster as the last one, but I hope you found it enjoyable all the same.

**Konjurer****: You know, you are absolutely terrible for my ego. Since you've reviewed, I think it's gone sky high…maybe I need a flamer to help me come back down. But seriously: you make my week. Every time I get one of your reviews I can't stop smiling…my friends think I'm nuts. I wanted to thank you personally, but you didn't sign in, so I couldn't get a hold of your email address. Nevertheless, you rock Middle Earth. Thanks so much for your awesome reviews. I hope you continue to love the story, and I hope I continue to reward you for your respect! ;-D**

Alright guys…up to 125 reviews. That is absolutely amazing. Thanks to you all for reviewing….as the ending is drawing near, I hope I do not get too many flamers for what I have in store for Aragorn and Legolas…oops, I think I said too much. Thanks for reviewing and reading, _mellonin_!__


	24. Light After Death

**Disclaimer: **Alright, this is really starting to piss me off. I know it's for legal reasons, but you know? It's a constant reminder that I'll never be as smart as that genius Tolkien. It also proves that I am so unoriginal, I have to write about _his_ characters using _his_ original plot. There goes my self-esteem….  

**A/N: **Still sick. This chapter was unbelievable hard for me to write. It took me about a half an hour of staring at the blank white page on Microsoft Word. Don't worry, I had a serious talk with my muse, who must've fallen asleep. I hope you like this chapter…actually, I think it's a little weird. I'd love to hear your input. You'll hear more about Legolas and Aragorn….yes, I can hear those screams of delight from miles away.

**The Shadow of Death**

****

_Light After Death_

He couldn't take it any longer. 

He stood there, watching the Dwarf groan and struggle in pain for nearly three quarters of an hour. He stood there, watching his friend in agony, still bleeding, still in shock, still worried for his other friend….who was dying.

Aragorn was dying. Legolas could feel it in the dank air, could sense it in his heart. His trusted friend, whom he loved like a brother, was on the verge of death. He had overheard Eowyn and Mithrandir talk in the hall shortly before she went to tend to Gimli. Mithrandir had said that the Healers were trying everything, but that there was little hope. Apparently, he had almost no life left in him when he arrived at Helm's Deep, but somehow the Healers had managed to reinstate the breath of life into his lungs…but he would not last through the night.

He knew he was not supposed to hear that conversation. Mithrandir knew that if he were to hear that, he would probably, once again, fall deep into the shadow from whence he emerged just a short while ago. But Legolas had heard it nonetheless. And as much as he didn't want to admit it to himself or anyone else, it was true: he felt his mind slipping into the dark unknown that he had thought he conquered. It lingered, like a bad memory, a nightmare, an everlasting pain that could not be relinquished nor subdued. It haunted him, not always predominant but always present. It lurked in the back of his mind, but slowly diffused to conquer his soul. He could feel an icy cold slip over him, and he knew it was the Shadow. It mocked him, taunted him, to the point of utter frustration and fear. But he could not let the Shadow take him over. Not yet.

He turned his back to Gimli. He could stand no more the suffering his friends were now going through. The helplessness, the total guilt that consumed his soul was evident in his slouched posture, his distressed facial features. He felt the familiar sensation of tears.

But they did not come. He could not cry anymore. He had wept more in the past week than he had ever in his life. It was as if there were no more tears left in him, as if he had no more tears to shed. He was done lamenting. He was done aching. He was done soul-searching. He was just…..done. 

Total submission to the Shadow overtook him in an instant. He could feel it creeping across his mind, eating away at his soul, tearing his heart into pieces. He could feel it slide across his skin, ever so softly and smoothly, but undoubtedly and coldly noticeable. With this helpless feeling of being surpassed by Shadow, he felt tremendous indignity. He was falling victim to the very same disease that his own brother, Emradril, had fallen victim to. He pictured his funeral, his father, his friends….all of them dressed in white, the traditional mourning garb. He could see the complete sadness on their faces, the absolute torment his father would go through, knowing he lost not one of his sons to this evil, but two.

But he just could not fight it anymore. It was present, like an ominous rain cloud. One knew the cloud would produce rain: it was just a matter of when. It was the same for the Shadow: it would always be there, and it was just a matter of time before it overtook him…

"Legolas."

He jumped at the sound of his name, and turned around to see Eowyn. Her hands were red, and she was holding a ragged white cloth, completely saturated with blood…Gimli's blood. Her eyes looked completely exhausted, but, to his semi-amusement, she still held her head high, as proud and prominent as she had always been.

"Why don't you see him?"

"I do not wish to disturb him."

"I'm sure he would be happy to see you."

Legolas shook his head. "I cannot."

Eowyn looked puzzled. "But I am sure the company would do him well."

"I cannot stand to see my friend in pain, Eowyn," he stated barely above a whisper.

Eowyn looked up at him. She stared into his murky brown eyes for a few moments before responding, "He will be in pain whether you go to see him or not, Legolas. But I am sure the pain would be dulled by the sight of an old friend."

Considering her statement he quickly came to the conclusion that Eowyn was right. He would have to push aside his own discomfort for the sake of his friends; it was the least he could do. Legolas nodded and she sent him a wispy smile of gratification. She watched him walk around her, and enter the chamber where Gimli lay. Deciding that privacy was needed, she silently, but slowly, walked towards her uncle's chambers.

"Oh Elbereth, elf, what have you done to your hair?"

Legolas almost smiled at the familiar offensive tone the Dwarf's voice took. He had the feeling no matter how long their friendship would last, Gimli's "superior" tone would never stop. But Legolas did not mind a bit.

"Do you like it?"

Gimli snorted. "You're an elf. You all look the same, it matters to me not."

Legolas nodded, a sparkle in his eyes. "I must say, you look….um….well…."

"Well what, elf? I have just been in a battle, against those bastard Uruks. Do you expect me to come out looking brand new?"

"The way you were boasting about your fighting skills, I would've thought you could've taken them on single-handedly."

Gimli snorted once again. The fact that they were avoiding a painful subject was unmistakably obvious. Gimli tried to treat Legolas as he would have before the current circumstances, and Legolas did the same. However, they both knew that it was silly, for times had drastically changed. But it was their last hope of holding on to what was their once peaceful and pleasant existence.

A heavy silence permeated the air. Legolas felt as if he should talk, but did not know what to say. He was grateful when Gimli suddenly spoke, although he would have preferred a different topic.

"How do you fare?"

Inside, he wanted to tell Gimli of the Shadow and how it was consuming him bitterly, even as they spoke. He wanted to tell him of the humiliation he felt, of the fear he had. Instead, he shrugged. "Well."

"I'm trying to make decent conversation here. You are not helping."

"Sorry."

Gimli looked as if he were about to speak again, but had obviously decided against it. Silence once again felt as heavy and thick as smoke. It made it hard to breathe, and Legolas could not stand it. "We both think of him."

Gimli nodded silently. "Have you heard any news of him?"

Legolas cleared his throat and crossed his arms. He looked down at the stone floor, and stared hard at it.

"Legolas, tell me. What news have you heard?"

He knew he couldn't hide the news from Gimli. Besides, he was Aragorn's friend as well, and he deserved to know the truth. "He does not fare well," Legolas replied matter-of-factly. "The Healers do not know if he will survive the night…"

A sharp intake of breath from Gimli startled him, and he looked down upon his friend. Gimli glanced up at him, but then turned his head away. Legolas knew Dwarves grieved alone, much to the difference of the traditional Elven way of mourning. But he decided to respect his friend's wishes, and turned to leave.

"You will see him, won't you?"

Legolas stopped. He hadn't thought about visiting Estel.

"Legolas, you must see him. Please….if you do not do it for yourself, do it for him. Do it for me."

It felt as if a huge rock suddenly jammed itself down his throat. He could not speak for a long few moments. Just picturing his friend's paled face, comatose, on the verge of death made him nauseous. But he noted the urgency and the pleading tone in his friend's voice, and Dwarves weren't known for asking favors in a beseeching manner. Seeing Estel for the last time was something Gimli could not do because of his own ailing condition. The least he could do, for his dedicated friend, was see Estel for him. Finally, without turning, and barely above a whisper, he croaked out, "I will."

~*~

_Floral scents and sun rays hitting his face were two things he noticed first. Then came the fresh brisque air hitting his face, but not stinging it. It was a refreshing feeling of autonomy and peacefulness, sensations that he had felt before, but not to the extent he was feeling now. His eyes were closed but he had no desire to open them. He turned his head slightly to one side, and felt the bristly tingle of grass against his cheek. His arms were folded behind his head, and he was laying on his back in what seemed to be a field of grass. How he got there he did not know. Nor did he care. For the first time in his life, he was unaware of his surroundings, naïve to his situation. He was completely off-guard, simply enjoying the pleasures of life that surrounded him._

_Pleasures that he might not be able to enjoy for very long.___

_This solemn realization struck him like an arrow. His eyes snapped open and he abruptly sat up, dizzy at first. He looked around him, and noticed that he was, in fact, in a field of grass. Groups of trees were plotted randomly around him. It was an absolutely perfect day, with wispy pallid clouds and a sapphire sky._

_No longer comforted, he felt his heart beat faster in his chest. His mind suddenly reminded him that he was going to die; yet how, why, and where still all remained a mystery to him. He did not remember any battle, any fight, that could have wounded him. Except for his epiphany of his death, he would probably still be lying peacefully among the blades of grass._

"Maybe I already am dead," _he thought, eyeing his surroundings uneasily. ___

_"You are not," came a familiar voice from behind him._

_His breath caught in his throat. He dared not turn around, for fear of disappointment if the person was not who he thought it was. The probability that she was here was almost impossible, but a thread of hope was wrapped around his heart tightly. Slowly, he stood up, and turned around. _"Arwen," _he breathed._

_Dressed in a white gown, his love stood but three feet away from him. She was exactly as he remembered her; just as precious, just as beautiful, just as compassionate. She wore a winsome smile upon her face, a smile that could melt any man's heart. But she looked at him with mournful eyes, eyes that seemed to hold heavy, dark secrets. He moved towards her in distress and embraced her. He could smell her perfume, feel her soft hair under his fingertips as he caressed it. He felt warm and complete as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He squeezed her tight to him, never wanting to let go. It was she who broke the embrace._

_She stepped back, and he was alarmed to notice tears forming in her beautiful eyes. She did not look at him, but looked directly at his chest, as if looking in his eyes would be painful. He moved towards her to comfort her, but to his surprise, she took a step back._

_"Arwen, _ma naa ta?" _he asked her. She shook her head and did not reply. As he studied her, he noticed she had clasped her hands tightly behind her back, as if she were trying to conceal something from him._

_"Arwen, tell me." Again she refused. He was becoming troubled, seeing his love so upset and not being able to do anything about it. A tear fell down her delicate face, and landed upon a blade of grass. Yet still she said nothing._

_"Iit pains me to see you like this."_

_She looked up at him with worried eyes. "I know, _melamin, _and I am sorry."_

_She offered no more explanation, no more apology. So he continued. "Tell me, please," he begged moving closer to her. _

_This time she did not move. She sighed, a heavy, depressed sigh. She studied his handsome, rugged face for a few moments, until she spoke. "You are dying."_

_He nodded, not fully understanding the profound statement that she made. His mind had told him this before, and he had known it. But the impact of death, the need to face mortality, was still absent from his mind. He stared at her blankly, his emotions absent due to his lack of comprehension. _

_"_Melamin, _you will die not alone."_

_"What?" This he did not know. He didn't even know the circumstances surrounding his own  approaching death…She moved towards him, and cupped his face in her hands. They were warm and smooth, just as he had remembered them. That warmth spread from his cheeks to his forehead, and suddenly became hot. It was not painful, but unexpected. The heat seemed to permeate his skin and invade his mind. Suddenly, battle scenes from the Uruks flooded his memory. He remembered the ambush, the fighting, the spilling of blood, the pain, the fear…_

_He opened his eyes again, not wanting to remember anymore. But the memories echoed in his head, refusing to go away. He looked into her eyes, and saw it pained her to give these memories back to him. But he saw the determination on her face, and knew there was a reason behind it. He removed her hands from his face, and gasped in horror as he looked at them._

_They were drenched in blood._

_He looked at her in question, but she merely looked at him back. He touched them, but the blood did not smear. It stayed on her hands, and remained absent upon his own. Her hands were stained with the ruby blood. "What…" he began, staring in disbelief._

_"It is the blood of your brother, Estel," she whispered, staring into his eyes._

_"My brother?"___

_"Your elven brother."___

_"_Legolas_," he exhaled._

_She nodded and began to silently cry. The tears dripped onto her upturned hands, but did not wash the blood away. "He is falling into Shadow."_

_The story of Emradril rushed back into Aragorn's mind. He remembered Gandalf's grave expression, Legolas's despair, his own guilt…_

_"No. No, he cannot." He refused to believe it._

_"Yes, my love, he is."_

_"Eowyn could not help him?"_

_She shook her head and replied, "Your evident death is dragging him into the depths of despair." _

_"'tis my fault?"__ Guilt washed over him like a wave. _

_"No, Estel. It is merely the event of your passing that will overtake him. He cannot deal with that pain. He loves you like a brother, as you love him. Your relationship transcends mortality, and your mortality is something Legolas cannot survive with. His unwillingness to accept death as a part of life will destroy him." Her voice got so soft Aragorn had to struggle to hear her words. He knew she loved Legolas like family as well, and he saw how it pained her to tell him this._

_Speechless, he stood there, looking into her eyes. Legolas was dying, as was he. He would not see his friend again, not see Middle Earth again…he would not see her again. "Arwen, I cannot leave you."_

_She took a sharp intake of air, as if she was expecting him to say it, but not wanting him to. "You will, Estel. You are dying…" an unexpected sob escaped her lips, and he reached towards her, unwilling to let her suffer because of him. She went to him, and kissed his lips again. Her kiss was soft and sensuous, delicate, but passionate. She pulled away, looked into his eyes, and said, "You must save him."_

_He knew she spoke of Legolas. He knew he must get better, he must overcome death, and embrace life, if for no one else but Legolas. He looked into her eyes, nodding, a blanket of determination covering his soul, enveloping his heart. He would survive. He would live. He would save Legolas._

_"Now go." She let go of him, and backed away._

_"Arwen…" he started to walk towards her, but she held up a hand. It was still covered in blood. He stopped._

_"Go, _melamin. _You have but little time to spare. He is falling quickly, pulled by the weight of your apparent fate. You must make haste. But remember…I love you, Estel."_

_She disappeared and abruptly, Aragorn felt a stab of pain in his stomach. He cried out in agony, falling to his knees, clutching his stomach. The feeling of searing pain resonated throughout his body. His head pounded, his stomach churned. A burning fire seemed to pulsate throughout his veins, a pain enveloping him, a pain that he had never felt before. He could not handle the blatant aching, the obvious agony, that swept over him. He longed to be back in the field of grass, holding on to Arwen, caressing her, kissing her._

_But he was not. He was dying._

_His surroundings went black. Suddenly he was cold, extremely cold. It invaded his blood, turning it to ice. It was hard to breathe, hard to think. But he knew he must endure it. He needed to live. Not for himself, but for Arwen._

_And Legolas.___

Legolas_.__ As the searing fire of death tried to break him down and smite his soul, Aragorn thought of Legolas. He had survived through much pain, but would now be killed because of his death. He would not longer allow his brother to suffer. He would not sit idly by and watch his elvish friend slowly die in disgrace._

_No, he wouldn't let Legolas die._

_No, he wouldn't leave Arwen to despair._

_No, he wouldn't let Middle Earth fall into darkness._

_No, he wouldn't leave his friends alone._

_No…he wouldn't die._

_"NO!" he suddenly screamed. His voice echoed around him as the cold choked him. He could not breathe. His chest felt heavy, he felt his heart slow down. His head spun full of memories…Uruks, Arwen, Elrond, Gandalf, Theoden, Gimli, Rivendell, Legolas…he gasped for air, but none came…the darkness surrounded him, wrapping him tightly…there was no escape…he weakly struggled, but knew it was hopeless…_

"No," _he thought, as he felt himself slip away. _"No…not like this. Not like this…"

_Uruks__, Arwen, Elrond, Gandalf, Theoden, Gimli, Rivendell, Legolas…_

"Not now."

_Samwise__, Pippin, Merry, Frodo…_

"I can't die…"

_Mordor__, Ringwraiths, Sauron…_

"Please…not now."

_Falling, pain, darkness, light, Arwen, Legolas, death…_

_Nothingness.___

~*~

Yeah….was that a little weird, or was it just me?

Maybe I'm in a weird mood…or maybe it was that weird epiphany that overcame me when I was doing my math homework. Whatever it was, this chapter was weird. Or, at least, the last half of it was.

What do you think? It was a little different…yeah, most definitely different. And strange. Definitely strange.

But please review…more will be explained next chapter…I **_promise._**

****

Personal thank yous:

**QT-pie Pippinsgurl: **Yeah, Theoden was trying to throw Legolas out. I know, I know…why anyone would want to do that is beyond me. But I hope you enjoyed this chappy!

**The Dark Rogue: **You're most definitely welcome for bringing such joy! Tomorrow I am going to read your fics…trust me. I promise. Please don't do to me what Legolas did to Theoden…because then I won't be able to finish this story! ;-) Thanks for the reviews…even though I haven't told you the fate of Aragorn yet….mwahahahaha.

**Gwyn****: I'm glad you enjoyed Theoden and Gandalf's argument. I just couldn't picture Gandalf putting up with that crap from anyone…I mean, he is a White Wizard, isn't he? I'm glad you enjoyed, I hoped you like this chapter!**

**Silvertoekee****: Thanks for the good wishes on finals. They're such a pain in the ass…seriously. I took a break from studying for them when I wrote this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for your reviews.**

**Ankhesanamun****: Of COURSE I don't mind if you review! I love it when you review! Thank you for the compliments…they really mean a lot. I hope you don't find this chapter weird. But review to let me know!**

**Elentari**** Manwe: Thanks…I wish I were on everyone's fave list! But I'll take what I have been given…awesome reviewers. Hope you enjoyed this chapter.**

**Amanariel****: Thank you SO much! Wow…I fell so special. You like my story that much? I am so happy!!! I hope you enjoyed this chapter…and thank you so much for putting me on your fave list. It really means a lot. ;-)**

**Aria Nightwing: **Thanks for the fave list mellonin! Wow, I feel so honored that you like my story. And thanks for the other stories! As soon as I have time, I will definitely read those. Thanks again for the review!

**Laebeth****: How did you like the rest of the chapters? I hope they were to your liking…review to let me know! Thanks for the compliments, and happy reading!**

**Twisted Fool: **It's my pleasure to give you Emradril. He's actually behaving quite nicely, so he shouldn't be too much trouble when you take him. I'm sure you enjoyed the pain Aragorn went through in this chapter…it's what you requested! Thanks again.

**Mydogisfudge****: Thanks for the compliments! I like happy endings too…but it all depends on my muse's ideas. Thanks for being such a loyal reviewer! I hope you enjoyed this chapter.**

**Randomramblings****: Thanks for putting me on your fave list! I am honored. I am so glad this story is growing on you…it's growing on me too…trust me. I spaced out in English the other day, thinking about what to write for the ending. It was terribly embarrassing when the teacher called on me and I had no idea what she was talking about. Well, anyways, thanks for reviewing!**

**Orangeblossom**** Took: Thanks for being such an awesome reviewer. I'm glad you liked last chapter…I hope you liked this one too! ;-)**

**ILoveLegolasEternally****: I love him too…what a coincidence. Oh, by the way, I checked out my name on that website. In elvish, I am: thinnoviel, thinnovien, or thinnovwen. Kinda nice, right? Thanks for the site and the review.**

**Konjurer****: Stop complimenting me. Seriously. It's unhealthy. (No, actually, don't stop…it's awesome). I'm glad you like descriptions. Descriptions and details are my favorite thing to write. I think that you could have an awesome plot for a story, but without descriptions, it could turn out really crappy. That's why I try to add in as many descriptive actions as I can. I like to give my readers mental pictures if I can. And thank you for complimenting my penname. I would be honored if you would use it when you write your story. It's actually Celtic, and it means "little fire" or "fire". I felt it appropriate because I'm Irish, and because I'm an Aries…my element is fire. So feel free to use it! Thanks for being an awesome reviewer…I look forward to your input on this chapter!**

Thanks mellonin…I'm up to 144 reviews. Unbelievable. I love you guys. 


	25. Shadows of the Past

**Disclaimer: **If I listed all of the characters of this story that I _didn't own here, you would be reading it for quite a while. So I'll keep this short and simple: if you saw them in the movie, or read them in the book, I don't own them. So there._

**A/N: **Nine more days of school…and counting. But, of course, Elbereth forbid that my teachers give me a break with the homework…I think I've done at least nine hours of homework already, and I probably have nine more to go. But I would never leave my loyal readers hanging! So I put down my hyperbola homework, and decided to write another chappy for you. Enjoy.

**The Shadow of Death**

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_Shadows of the Past_

She walked deliberately but leisurely back to her uncle's chambers. Her spirits had been lifted. Legolas looked very healthy; he looked exactly like he did previous to the battle of Helm's Deep, except for the fact that his hair was black and his eyes were russet. He had been looking recovered and more lively than he had looked in perhaps a week. This cheered her up tremendously.

As she approached her uncle's oak doors, her joy dissipated slightly as she heard a heated argument. One voice belonged to her uncle, the other, as far as she could tell, belonged to Gandalf. She stopped perhaps three feet from the door, and stood completely silent. She strained her ears to try and overhear the dispute, but the heavy oak doors muffled their words. Unexpectedly, only a few seconds later, they swung open, and Gandalf strode out, looking particularly offensive and distressed. Eowyn, unsure of what was wrong, did not ask the Wizard to explain himself. In fact, he didn't even see her until he almost walked into her.

"Oh, excuse me, Eowyn," Gandalf muttered. "I didn't notice your presence."

"Nay, good Gandalf, 'tis nothing to apologize for."

He nodded, throwing her a fake smile. He turned to his left and began to leave, when Eowyn's curiosity got the better of her. "What were you and my uncle quarreling about?" It slipped out unintentionally, before Eowyn could stop herself.

Gandalf sighed heavily. "My Lady, I am afraid you must ask him." He nodded to her, and then quickly retreated down the long stone corridor.

Perplexed and slightly alarmed, she opened the doors and saw her uncle standing, arms crossed, looking out a window. The wind blew in from the casement, a chilly, crisp air. Despite herself, Eowyn shivered. Theoden apparently hadn't noticed his niece's entrance. He did not move, did not blink, and seemingly did not _breathe until Eowyn decided to interrupt his train of thought._

"Is everything alright?"

Theoden turned towards her. He stared at her, an odd expression overpowering his usually relaxed face. He seemed to be studying her, sizing her up, trying to see through to her very thoughts. This strangeness caught her off guard, and made her perturbed. "Perhaps I shall return another time," Eowyn stated, her words quickly emerging. She turned to leave, anxious to get out of her uncle's gaze, when he spoke.

"No. Eowyn, come here."

She froze. His voice even sounded unnatural, as if he were trying to cover up an emotion willing itself to come out. She turned to face him, the feeling of uncertainty creeping over her, but she did not look at him; instead, she looked out of the window that he was previously staring at. It was lightly raining.

Without prelude, he began. "What is your relationship with Legolas?" She was shocked by this question. It held an edge to it, an anxiousness, and an undertone of disappointment and uncertainty. 

"He is my friend," she stated matter-of-factly, if not somewhat hesitantly. Theoden did not respond instantly. He continued to look at his niece, studying her. She felt herself become self-conscious, and had the sudden urge to run out of the chambers, sprint down the hall, and forget about her uncle's glare. But out of respect, both for herself and for him, she stood her ground.

"Nothing more?" His words surprised her. She felt her mouth open, but quickly closed it, desperately trying to hide her astonishment at his question. Was he implying that she was romantically linked to him? It was such an illogical idea, such a seemingly random question, that she felt herself blush.

"Of course not."

"Then why do your cheeks grow red?"

The accusatory tone of her uncle's words angered her. "Because of the absurdity of your question."

Theoden's eyes squinted, and he slowly approached her. She felt the urge to recoil, to cave in. But being a Sheild Maiden, she did neither. "The absurdity of my question? How about the absurdity of your defense of him?" He was trying hard not to lose his temper.

"What?" Eowyn had no idea what he meant.

"You know of what I speak. You comforted him, Eowyn. You spoke to him gently, directly after he tried to kill me!" Theoden's eyes were open wide, his hands clenched over his chest. Eowyn had never seen her uncle like this, and it deeply unnerved her.

"I…I comforted him, for he has suffered much, and will continue to-"

"He tried to kill me!" Theoden roared incredulously. "Did you not see the crazed look in his eye, the determination in his face? He was choking me, Eowyn. I have never been so disrespected, dishonored, and so blatantly disgusted!" Theoden was now yelling. He stood barely four feet away from her, but he spoke in a tone of voice as if he were forty yards yonder.

"He did not mean-"

"And then," he continued, ignoring her protests, "you _kiss him."_

Eowyn did not answer. Kiss him she had…but it was a kiss of friendship, a kiss of reassurance. She had meant to do no more than to let Legolas know she would be there for him, to calm him down, to console him…

"I…." Eowyn knew not how to counter her uncle's accusations. They were false, but how could she prove them so? 

"Yes, Eowyn, my darling niece, you kissed him. You kissed the very elf who tried to kill your uncle." The disgust and hatred in his voice was seeping from his throat. He narrowed his eyes, and wore a snarl upon his once handsome face. Eowyn stood silent. This was not her uncle speaking. She had never seen him this angry or this….strange. He had never acted like this. He had always been a rational man, a man who was good at analyzing emotions. She assumed that Theoden would understand Legolas's predicament, and come to the conclusion that he was acting out of pure emotion, not taking logic into account.  

But he was doing neither.

Noticing she had nothing to say in defense of herself, Theoden spoke. "I want him gone."

She looked up at him, fear in her eyes. "No…uncle, you can't-"

"Do _not_ tell me what I can and cannot do! An elf just tried to strangle me, and neither you nor Gandalf has any sympathy, save for that elf. He is a danger to my people, a danger to me, and a danger to _you_. He will be gone by morning."

"No!" The hoarse cry erupted from her throat like a volcano. It was filled with her pent up emotions, feelings that had been stored in her body since the battle for Helm's Deep. Frustration, anger, depression, sadness, hesitance, guilt, hope, despair…all of them came out in one syllable, one desperate sob, one forceful whimper.

"Yes." The response was as cold as ice. It was frozen yet unable to crack. It was stated blandly but maliciously, carelessly but vigorously. It was stated as an unwritten rule, a viable command…an order.

This could not be happening. Her uncle was not a hateful man. He was regal, loyal, just. He was lovable and loving, in command but full of compassion. He served his people willingly, with a vigor that had not been seen in many generations. But this man, of whom she so dearly loved, was intentionally banishing her friend. A friend who was suffering painfully, a friend who would have no where to go, no where to turn…

"You cannot do this," she responded, the tears now flowing without restraint. Her teeth were gritted, her jaw clenched. Yet her posture was slackened, and she did not look at her uncle. She refused to.

The King of Rohan unfolded his arms and regained his tall and royal posture. He looked upon her with uncaring and cold eyes, as his response came. "It is done."

~*~

Gandalf knew not what to do.

Legolas was about to be banished…at the best. At the worst, he would be detained, and stand trial for attempted murder.

_How did it come to this? _He asked himself, shaking his head as he walked down the corridor. _How could such utter tragedy emerge from such a glorious victory?_

But Gandalf knew the answer: vengeance.

Vengeance ate away at Theoden's soul. It engorged itself in his heart, pulsating throughout the king's veins. It entrenched itself in his mind, unwilling to let empathy and reason interfere with its own malevolent intents. Vengeance was what was speaking through Theoden's mouth. Or, perhaps, it was the lack thereof…

The absence of vengeance was detrimental to a man's soul. The need for it, the urge to have it but the inability to obtain it, was enough to drive anyone to the brink of madness. This is exactly what it was doing to Theoden, as it had begun to do to Legolas. _How ironic, _Gandalf contemplated. _They suffer from the same ailment, yet Theoden does not comprehend the irrationality of Legolas's actions. _

Ironic it was. Companions in the lust for retaliation, victims of the disease of retribution, but enemies due to the blindness caused by it. Gandalf had been mulling over possible ways to convince Theoden to let Legolas stay. But all of them had been folly; Theoden was a determined and prideful man. When he made up his mind, his decision was cast in stone. Neither chisel nor hammer could crack it…he had tried. But his anger had gotten the best of him. Gandalf had scolded himself for losing control of his emotions, but it pained him to see Legolas suffer so. It physically hurt him to think of Thranduil's reaction to finding out that his son had fallen victim to the Shadow…

Gandalf remembered it clearly: the day when Emradril fell. The hellish moment when Thranduil learned his son was worse than dead, and was an orc. His son had become one of the Woodland Elves' most hated and dreaded enemies; what was worse, he had helped to orchestrate the worst ambush on Mirkwood in all history.

_"This cannot be…this cannot be…"_

_That was all Thranduil would say. Gandalf had ridden to Mirkwood after he had caught news of the terrible ambush. Hundreds, if not thousands, of defenseless elves had been cut down, slaughtered, and tortured by the orcs. It was unexpected, and occurred without any type of warning. It was devastating…no words would comfort the despairing King of Mirkwood. So Gandalf sat by his side, through the night, doing nothing but showing his support for his friend._

_"Does Legolas know?"_

_Thranduil__ slowly shook his head in response. "He is too young, Gandalf. He is too impressionable, too sensitive…"_

_"You must tell Legolas what happened to Emradril. He's his brother, Thranduil."_

_He saw the king shudder and flinch when he mentioned his begotten son's name. "I do not have the heart to tell him." Gandalf sighed. Luckily, Legolas had been safely sleeping, in his bed, at the time of the attack. The Mirkwood Guard had prevented the intruders from reaching the castle, undoubtedly saving the young prince's life. "But Mithrandir…he has been asking me about his friends…" Thranduil spoke barely above a whisper. "He asked me where Vanoviel was, a friend of his since her birth…how could I tell him she is dead?"_

_Gandalf knew not how to respond. So he simply stated, "It must be done."_

_The king shook his head. "Legolas should be spared this grief. He has encountered it too much, with the death of his mother…" He trailed off, and Gandalf did not pursue._

But Legolas must learn to cope with grief, _Mithrandir thought silently. _It is a fact of life, even with an immortal one. Death is a part of life, and Legolas must learn to survive it. _But looking at the king's tired and wary face, mourning the death of hundreds of his people, Gandalf could not bring himself to bestow another worry upon him. So he remained silently supportive, sitting by the king's side. _

_The death tolls came in, mounting with each passing hour. Two hundred…three hundred…four hundred…it came to the point where Gandalf could not bring himself to listen to these bearers of ill news. But Thranduil insisted on hearing every name, every toll, every detail and description about his people's deaths. Why Thranduil wished to know was a mystery, but it was not his place to question. Thus, he sat quietly, watching the once powerful king withdraw into himself, searching for peace._

_Throughout the night, Thranduil said nothing. He sat, slouched, his head cupped in his hands, his face wrought with despair. He looked older than ever, as if he had miraculously aged twenty human years in a mere few hours. The air had grown so heavy and dank with the feel and aftermath of death that Gandalf felt it hard to breathe. The tension and despair was tangible, and so tense that he could have broken it in half. But when a member of the Mirkwood Guard cautiously and silently entered Thranduil's chambers, Gandalf felt the terse feelings ease just a bit; but they did not disappear by any means. The elf of the Guard walked towards the king, a note written on a piece of parchment. He held the note close to him, as if afraid to relinquish it. His blue eyes were filled with apprehension, and as he approached the throne, he stopped and showed his respect._

_"Your Highness?" The uneasiness spilled over from his eyes to his voice._

_"Yes," the exhausted reply came._

_"A note from Arandilor, sire." The elf handed over the note to the king, who took it in his grasp. He bowed again, and quickly dismissed himself, as if fleeing the wrath that the note would bestow upon the king. Thranduil sat there, clenching the note so hard that his knuckles were white. He stared directly ahead of him at the marble floors, not moving, hardly breathing. Gandalf laid a hand on his friend's shoulder, shaking him from his trance._

_"Thranduil, read the note," he suggested gently. The king looked to him and nodded. He opened the note, carefully, as if it were a dangerous creature that would pounce at any moment. The crinkle of the paper echoed throughout the stifled, silent chamber. Once it was successfully opened, Thranduil began to read. Gandalf watched his blue eyes trail along the paper, his expressionless face making no sign of emotions whatsoever. Mithrandir held his breath, not daring to move before the king finished reading. He looked from the parchment to his friend, back and forth, patiently awaiting for the consensus._

_But the consensus did not come._

_The piece of parchment fell from Thranduil's hands, gently drifting to the stone floor like a falling leaf. The king sat, transfixed, an expression of pure sadness cascading down his face, an expression that made Gandalf's heart sob. He didn't know whether to inquire about the letter or not. But he could suddenly not bare to be in the dark any longer. Thranduil was suffering, and Gandalf needed to know why._

_"Thranduil, _mellonin_, what troubles you?"_

_Thranduil__ looked to Gandalf, a single tear falling. "Emradril is dead."_

_The Wizard's brows knotted together as he absorbed the information. _Emradril is dead…_"How is this known?" he asked quietly._

_"They found his orc body. He was shot through the heart with an arrow." The voice was bland and monotone. Gandalf did not answer; instead, he studied the elf's face, tears flowing silently. He stared at the floor once again, avoiding Mithrandir's sympathetic and questioning eyes. "My son…" he suddenly whimpered, covering his face. "My son…"_

_The Wizard lowered his head. Emradril, the once compassionate, brave, and loyal son of Thranduil had been felled by the Shadow. He had been corrupted and corroded, both his flesh and soul disintegrated into one unified mass of evil. It was heart-wrenching. And the fact that now Thranduil would have to tell Legolas, his other son, about the horrifying events of the past days, was enough to throw Gandalf into the pit of bereavement._

_But Gandalf sensed that the king would not tell Legolas about Emradril. Between his wife's death and his son's death, both within a span of only a couple years, he would not bring himself to impart any more grief upon the one son, the one child, he had left. Thranduil sighed and stood up, at first unsure of his footing. Gandalf saw him tremble, and feared for the king's health, but he would take no assistance from anyone. He stood, back straight, his head held high, his golden hair flowing down his back, furiously wiping his face on the sleeves of his royal robes. "I must tend to my people, Gandalf," he said in a shaky voice. "They are in need of me now, and I will not abandon them to my own feelings of misery." _

_"_Mellonin_, you must beware of your grief…" Gandalf replied. If Thranduil wasn't careful, the pure grief that filled his heart could kill him._

_"Yes, my friend, I am aware. Thank you, Mithrandir. Your support has been most gracious." He looked at the Wizard with eyes glistening full of water. He knew the king could not bring himself to say any more, for he was wrought with emotion. So the Wizard nodded, a silent 'you're welcome' to his friend of old. _

_He watched as the king strode out of his chambers, knowing he must help his people in this time of need. His green robe trailed behind him, a regal air about him permeated the chamber. Gandalf knew that Thranduil was a great and powerful king, a selfless king, a just king. He knew he would put himself after the wellbeing of his loyal subjects. Gandalf only wished he knew how the king would deal with the sadness in his heart._

And the sadness would once again entrench the king's heart if Legolas fell. He would have to be the one to tell him of the heartbreaking news. He could see the utter haplessness on his friend's face. If Thranduil lost Legolas, he would have lost his whole family.

The mere thought was too much. Gandalf began to cry.

~*~

9 more days left of school. But who's counting? Maybe that's why I'm updating so much…I'm too lazy to do homework….

Now, for the infamous personal thank yous: 

**Aria Nightwing: **Did I kill Estel? Are you sure? Yes? No? oooh, I hope the suspense is killing you! ;-) you do NOT have a sick mind…I love Legolas angst too, remember? It's perfectly healthy to torture the ones you love….err…maybe not….anyways thanks for the review! I hope this helped ease your angst craving…expect more in the future! And you can definitely borrow my muse…once I figure out what to name her…..

**Mydogisfudge****: I'm glad you found it interesting! Yes, I think it was weird, but I'm glad you liked it! I hope you liked this chapter as well.**

**Randomramblings****: Awww, I don't want to see this story stop either! I've had so much fun writing it, and hearing from wonderful reviewers like you! But I'm sure you'll love the ending…at least, I hope you will….thanks for reviewing!**

**Moon Fox: **I didn't mean to portray Gimli in a bad light. I merely figured that the poor Dwarf was injured…thus he didn't have his strength left, thus he didn't have the health nor the power to fight back. When one is seriously injured, they become weak, if not incapacitated…I merely figured having a giant slash across Gimli's chest might hinder his fighting ability. And since when was being heavy stop anyone from carrying anybody? If a grown man can be carried by another grown man, as is seen all of the time, what is so wrong when a grown man carries a dwarf? Also, I do not know what you meant by 'tork'…did you mean torque? Hmmm….dunno. It's also a shame you signed in under an anonymous name…I like to respond personally to people who critique (or flame) my stories. Oh well.

**EternallyMine****: I hurried! And here's the next chapter. Hope u enjoyed! (PS…I love Legolas too…)**

**Elentari**** Manwe: I'm glad you liked the emotional chapter…here's another one. I think I need to stop with the emotions…they're wearing me out. Whew. But anything to make my readers happy! ;-)**

**Stacee**** Phelps: I updated as soon as possible…although I did leave Aragorn like that…sorry! He will be addressed next chappy….I think…I hope….err…yeah. Thanks for reviewing!**

**Gwyn****: You know, weirdness is good to a certain extent. And yes, I do know what you mean about the dream sequence…but I'm glad you enjoyed it. I think all angst stories contain a certain about of weirdness…like yours! But its good weirdness ;-) Thanks for the review, and update soon!**

**Legolasluver****: Here's a tissue. *Hands tissue over* I bought a few packs….I thought at least one of my awesome readers would need one. Anyways, I'm glad you liked it. Thanks so much!**

**The Dark Rogue: ***gasps* I KNOW you did not just say Legolas must…live?!?!?!?! Wow…what happened there? Was it a moment of emotional distress, or an insane attack? Wow, or have I really changed your mind? Hmmm…so many questions! But I'm glad you liked it…even though I can't really kill Arwen, since she's not physically in my story….thanks for the review!

**Silvertoekee****: Thanks for the 'feel better' wishes. I need them. I still feel pretty icky, but much better…thanks! I'm glad you like my fic, and thanks so much for being such a loyal reviewer! ;-)**

Alright. 155 reviews and counting….I seriously can't believe it. I remember when I only had 35 reviews, and I was astonished then! You guys are awesome. Thanks! Oh, and if any of you have suggestions for my next story, please just let me know. I would love to get plot bunnies…my muse is currently working overtime on this story, so she has no time to worry about my next one. Suggestions welcome…thanks, _mellonin__._


	26. Presence of the Sun

**Disclaimer: **Only Emradril and Halinor and this plot. That's it. Everything else?...thank the Professor.

**A/N: **I LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH. I have 187 reviews, and counting. Unbelievable. Extraordinary. You guys rock my world. Let's see….yeah, so this chapter was HARD. I think, besides for _Light Before Death, this has been the hardest chapter yet. Filled with emotion from everyone…ugh, I am so exhausted. But my readers undoubtedly deserve it, nonetheless. Thus, chapter 26._

**The Shadow of Death**

_Presence of the Sun_

_Click…click…click…_

His footsteps echoed against the cold, bland, aged stone. It rang in his ears, as there was no other sound to be heard at the moment. He figured if he focused completely on the reverberation, his mind would miraculously let go of all of the hurt it had been clutching on to.Unfortunately, it was a lost cause…nothing could clear his mind; whatever emotions and thoughts were in it were fixed. Each floated in his brain, harmless individually yet dangerous collectively. Trying to disregard them was of no use. So he stopped his attempts.

_Click…click…click…_

His boots kept creating a ringing sound, nonetheless. Now, instead of helplessly trying to focus in on it, he tried to block it out, finding that it was all too impossible to ignore. The very fort seemed to be asleep, and the echo seemed to be the only sound stirring.

_Click…click…click…_

 He desperately wanted the sound to go away. He now had to focus all of his energy on controlling his emotions, for they would be irked soon enough…he needed to keep his feelings in check. He did not want to lose control of them when he saw Estel. His friend would want him to be strong, to be brave, to carry on. But Legolas wondered if he was dying, how Estel would react…. 

He didn't have to wonder. He _was dying._

Legolas had almost forgotten. His concern for Estel was so great that he had completely failed to remember his own welfare. He shook his head. His health would come second to his friend's; right now he needed to be there for him, to center all of his energy onto him, to make him the focal point in his life…or what was left of it.

_Click…click…click…_

He would have never though Estel would die…the thought just simply never occurred to him. He had known him for so long, and had grown so close to him, that it was as if he too were an elf, wholly immortal, transcending fatality to the fullest. Legolas inwardly scolded himself for being so naïve. Of course Estel would die; he was a merely a Man. All Men died…

But Estel's passing would be untimely, and Legolas had not the heart to think of it.

Despite himself, Legolas wondered if all men thought of their own demise. Elves never did; they focused on the present, virtually ignoring the fact that they, under specific circumstances, were not undying. Elves focused on life, not on death. It simply was not a topic discussed among his people. It was true that, for the most part, their time was unlimited. Legolas wondered how men could grow so comfortable knowing that their lives was restricted, aware of the omnipresent and everlasting possibility of death.

_Click…click…click…_

He was almost at the chamber in which Estel lay. The door was shut, but he could hear murmurs and shuffling behind it, undoubtedly belonging to the Healers who were preparing Estel for death. With each approaching step, he felt himself grow more and more nauseous.

_Click…click…click…_

His heart began to pound, his head grew heavy.

_Click…click…click…_

His mind revolved, patternless memories of he and Estel sweeping over him like a gust of wind.

_Click…click…click…_

_"Shh! Legolas, we'll get caught!"_

The voice was undoubtedly Estel's. He pricked up his ears, and stopped walking. However, he soon felt foolish, for he realized the voice was from a memory. He closed his eyes, straining to remember from whence the quote came… 

_"I didn't say anything!"_

_"Your boots were doing all of the talking. It echoes like a cave in here."_

_They were in a darkened hallway, but Legolas could see perfectly. It was nighttime, and a cool breeze rustled through the __castle__ of __Thranduil__. It tickled his nose and stung his eyes, but there was an unspoken pleasantness to it. However, it was apparent that Estel didn't think so._

_"I can hear your teeth chattering from here. It's not cold."_

_He heard his friend snort, then quietly reply, "You're an elf, your _highness_, you can't feel __cold."_

_Legolas__ smiled, knowing his friend could not see him. His back was to him, and they were walking hunched over, against the smooth, ageless walls, trying to avoid detection. His Elvish senses were on high alert, for if they were caught, they would undoubtedly be punished. Severely._

_"Are you sure this is such a good idea?" Legolas mumbled. His apprehension grew with every passing second. The Mirkwood Guard was on alert twenty-four hours a day, every day. They were skilled archers, brave fighters, and had senses trained to perfection. These were dark times in Mirkwood, and he knew the Guard would not hesitate to attack anything that moved, especially if it were inside of the King's castle. He did not like to think of what his father would say, or do, if he caused an uproar in the middle of the night._

_"How old are you? Somewhere around one thousand and five hundredish years? What happened to your daringness, your curiosity, your sense of adventure?" Legolas could detect slight disappointment in his friend's voice, but disregarded it._

_"Have you forgotten who my father is?" he shot back, annoyed. The statement seemed to make his friend think. Thranduil was a compassionate and loving father. But if he were disobeyed, he had no qualms about punishing the offender. This was a widely known fact._

_"No. But don't tell me he was a perfect elfling."_

_"I haven't heard anything otherwise. He knows better than to tell me those things."_

_"That's unfortunate."_

_"Yes…very."_

_They proceeded down the corridor, keeping low. Legolas sensed that the Guardsmen were not close at hand; they were probably busy patrolling the perimeter of the castle. This didn't necessarily mean that the coast was completely clear, but it did mean that they had a better chance at getting out of the castle unscathed and unnoticed._

_"Legolas-"_

_"Shh!" He silenced his friend sharply. He had heard something; it sounded like footsteps, and they were coming towards them._

_He quickly signaled at Estel to turn the corner, a few feet in front of them. They dashed towards the curve, and, as silently as possible, ran down it as fast as they could. But Legolas could hear the footsteps growing ever louder, so he reached out in front of him and grabbed Estel's shirt to pull him hard against the wall. They both now stood, panting silently, with their backs flat against the cold, smooth stone. He could hear talking. One voice belonged to a member of the Guard._

_"Sire, I swore I saw something."_

_"I do not doubt you. No compromises can be taken, especially with Lord Elrond and his son here on a diplomatic mission. I want you to scour this castle, make sure that everything is in its place…start with my son's room."_

_Legolas__ nearly groaned in dismay. The other voice belonged unquestionably to his father. Just his luck. They waited, completely still, until the footsteps of both Thranduil and the Guardsman trickled away into nonexistence. It was only then that Legolas allowed himself to breathe._

_"Alright, Estel.__ This is it. No more." He shook his head at his friend, and motioned towards their bed chambers._

_Estel__ cocked his head. "Don't tell me the all-mighty future king of Mirkwood has lost his nerve." Legolas knew the gleam in his friend's eye. He only got it when he was up to mischief._

_"Estel!__ My father is awake! They're going to turn this castle inside out. If they catch us out of bed-"_

_"What?" This was not a question: it was a challenge. "What will they do if they catch us out of bed? You are no longer a child, Legolas. Your father has to stop treating you like one…and you have to stop letting him."_

_Legolas__ opened his mouth to reply but stopped. He hated to admit it, but his friend had a valid point. He had been extremely sheltered from hardship, even for an elf. He was hardly ever allowed inside of _Mirkwood___Forest__, and when he was, four armed Guardsmen were right there with him. He spent most of his time climbing the trees in the __Royal__Garden__, or practicing his archery in the field. Both of these places were right by the castle. His father had never let Legolas accompany him on diplomatic missions of any kind. With a sudden claustrophobic feeling, Legolas realized he had never been allowed outside of the Mirkwood Realm._

_He looked into Estel's eyes. They were full of anxiety and the gleam of mischief had not left them. Thinking, Legolas blinked and looked to the floor, studying the smooth, unchanging tiles of marble. _

_"So?"_

_"So what?"___

_"So are we going?" The want in his voice was undeniable. Estel was a natural explorer, an innate adventurer. How could he deny his friend his passion?_

_Legolas__ sighed. "Fine. But I am warning you, Estel, if we get caught, my father won't hesitate to kill me. And if he does, you're the first person I'm coming back to haunt."_

_Aragorn quietly chuckled under his breath. "You won't get caught," he replied in a whisper, slapping a hand on his best friend's back. "You're with me, remember?" He was grinning like a little boy. Legolas soon found out the grin was contagious._

_~*~_

He was not grinning now. Instead, he faced two solid Elmwood doors, perhaps twelve feet in height. They were a lighter shade of wood than the others in the castle, and seemed to be more worn than any of the others as well. There were cracks and splinters interwoven with the light timber, giving the impression that the door was feeble and unsteady. 

Legolas just stood there. He did not approach the doors, nor did he make the slightest uncomfortable movement. He waited there, unblinkingly looking at the cracks in the wood. He followed them with his eyes, noticing that the cracks broke off into branches, ever spreading and diffusing the board, increasingly making the doors weaker…

_"Open them already, will you? Time is a luxury we don't have!" _

_"These doors creak, Estel. Be patient, for Elbereth's sake."_

_They stood at the back exit of the __Castle__ of __Thranduil__, Legolas in front, and Estel nervously looking over his shoulder every second or two. He carefully studied the doors. They were heavy and he had used them countless times during his life. He knew they would creak…the Guard's refined hearing would undoubtedly hear it, and they would be caught red-handed._

_The mere thought made him shudder. But he shoved the notion aside and finally screwed up enough courage to put his hand on the ornamental handle. It was a cold metallic gold, with emerald leaves spilling from the handle down to the floor. His hand covered the knob, he grasped the chilled metal in his hands…_

_…and pulled._

_Involuntarily, he felt himself wince, expecting to hear a creak, expecting to hear the Mirkwood Guard come sprinting down the corridor, expecting to see his father turn the corner and stare with cold eyes at his son who was causing such a disturbance._

_His expectations did not materialize._

_The door did not creak._

_He opened his eyes wide, and felt his muscles relax, his mind ease. He heard Estel give a sigh of relief, and turned around to see his friend lower his head, as if in silent prayer to the Valar for preventing the door from making a poignant noise. Smiling, and inwardly impressed with himself, Legolas swung open the doors and beckoned silently for Estel to follow. They crept down the white polished stone steps, and into a field of soft, moist grass. _

_"Ready?"_

_"As ready as I'll ever be."_

_"Let's go."_

_Side by side, the friends walked across the grass towards the forest. Legolas felt the tender, dew-frosted grass crinkle and squish under his feet as the forest drew nearer. As they approached, he noticed the once familiar and welcoming trees now looked foreign and hostile. The once well-lit forest canopy now emitted an eerie halo of starlight from its boughs. _

_A tremendous feeling of apprehension made its way up Legolas's spine, starting from his lower back and ominously and gradually moving towards his neck. He had this feeling once before, and his intuition had turned out to be true. But issuing a sidelong glance towards his friend, he knew he couldn't deprive him of his roguish fun. So he ignored it._

_They walked into __Mirkwood__Forest__, and almost immediately the prince felt out of place, if not somewhat uncomfortable. He had been inside of the forest a myriad of times, but only in the well-lit presence of the sun. As the friends pushed their way though the underbrush, stepping on dead leaves and dried grasses and sticks of all sizes, the tingling sensation still did not pass. It was making him somewhat nauseous and gave him a sense of paranoia that he had never felt before. His eyes darted from one tree to another, searching for something, anything, that would have proven his sense of suspicion to be justified._

_And soon enough, he found it._

_In a bush, perhaps thirty feet away, he saw two glowing yellow eyes staring at them. No human would ever be able to detect this, but being an elf, it was as obvious as could be. Legolas let out a low hiss, releasing some of his pent-up energy to prevent himself from exploding in alarm. He stretched his right hand out, putting it across Estel's chest. His friend looked confused at first, but saw the look in his friend's eyes. He knew they were in trouble, even if he could not see the cause of the danger. Luckily, Estel did not say a word. He remained silent Legolas scanned the surroundings hurridly, searching for any companions of their stalker in the brush._

_But before long, Estel's curiosity got the best of him. "Legolas, what is it?"_

_Only one word escaped his mouth, a low, disgusted sound that made Estel's skin tingle. "Yrch."_

_Estel's__ eyes widened in surprise and fear.__ Legolas could feel his friend's muscles tense, his body becoming rigid and awkward. He knew that Estel had never come face to face with these creatures. Neither had he, for that matter._

_As he inspected their surroundings, Legolas began to see more and more unblinking eyes staring at them through the underbrush. He could not tell specifically how many there were, nor how they were alerted of their presence.But he could tell they were surrounded…and outnumbered._

_Legolas__ knew these creatures showed no mercy, felt no compassion. They were mere shells of a soul, empty containers of a spirit that had long since fled. The stories Legolas had heard throughout his life were bone chilling and appalling. They had caused him nightmares when he was merely an elfling, and were the origin of his apprehension through much of his adult life thus far…_

_"Legolas."__ He was returned to consciousness by his friend's fearful voice. And he soon knew why. The orcs were moving closer. They had emerged from their hiding places on the forest floor and were now approaching, weapons drawn, eyes wide, tongues eager to savor the blood of a __Woodland__ Elf and his companion…but he wasted no time. He drew his bow and placed an arrow upon it, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Estel draw his sword. He knew that they did not have a chance against this group of orcs, for they were inexperienced in battle. Estel was only…what…nineteen years of age? He couldn't possibly have had the training or the skill to defeat them._

_Neither did he._

_He had heard about the valiant warriors during the six-year war who had gallantly lost their lives to these abominable creatures. His people spoke of them with the utmost admiration and reverence. Legolas grew up with the notion that if he were to die, he would want to perish like those noble soldiers: fighting against his people's bitter enemies, protecting the Mirkwood Realm. He wanted to be remembered as the Prince of Mirkwood who passed on fighting for his brethren, protecting his kingdom. _

_But all of that held no importance. Now he was no longer dreaming, no longer protected by his father, nor the Mirkwood Guard…he was on his own, up against a danger that was extremely real. He heard a sharp intake of breath, and he looked over to Estel. His eyes were large, perspiration dripping down his tan face. His breathing was light and shallow, and he seemed to be focusing on one particular orc directly in front of them. He did not move, nor did he blink. He seemed to be in shock._

_Legolas__ was passed the initial shock. Now, he was scared. Very scared. But he did not show it; he had no idea how to. He had never been scared in his life, as far as he could remember. Thus, being as fearful as he was now was incomprehensible to him. He simply did not know how to show his panic…_

_The band of orcs were moving ever closer. They seemed to be taking their time, sickeningly enjoying terrorizing their prey. Some snarled, some snickered, some licked their lips: but they all focused on him, the Mirkwood Elf, one of their loathed enemies. He could see in their eyes the excitement they held, planning the torture of the Elf who had traveled too far into the dank forest. And he knew he would be tormented: he had heard reports of it from the Guard to his father. Their captives were dismembered, beheaded, and beaten beyond recognition. _

_Legolas__ knew that this was what was going to happen to him._

_A shrill cry came from his left, and he saw a lone orc charging at them, weapon held high, a look of pure ecstasy on his face. Quickly, Legolas raised his bow and shot the orc through the head. All that now remained was his shriek echoing amongst the branches of the trees._

_Oddly, none of the other orcs charged. They just continued their slow constriction of their prey, patient but eager._

_Now, he and Estel stood back to back, preparing to fight to the death. They were both certain that they would die, for how could they beat such a vast number of orcs alone? Legolas silently scolded himself for going into the woods alone at night. He had heard about the increased orc activity recently, and knew damn well that it was outright dangerous._

_Without warning, the orcs began to shriek. They were ear-bursting, mind numbing shrieks. They were the most terrifying and painful sound Legolas's ears had ever heard. He noticed that they had stopped moving, and now stood in a circle around the two friends. They were shrieking nonstop, all of their voices molding together into one horrifying reverberation. _

_And then they attacked._

_Legolas__ hastily drew another arrow to his bow and shot an orc through the chest, his black blood tainting the once green undergrowth of the forest. He shot another orc through the throat, another one through the leg, leaving it to writhe in pain on the ground. But there were too many. They all seemed to be converging on him, almost completely ignoring Estel._

_But his friend made himself known._

_He charged his way to stand directly next to Legolas. In between shooting orcs, he noticed how skilled his friend really was at swordplay. He sliced through them, one by one or even two at a time. His trepidation seemed to be lost in an emergence of adventure. Estel's loss of fear added to Legolas's determination. He turned to face the creatures that were responsible for the death of so many. They still charged at him, screaming wildly, but now he was not fearful. If he would die, he would die; if he would live, he would live. But he would not be slaughtered in dread. _

_As Legolas shot more and more orcs, he began to feel invincible. He developed a sense of hope. _Perhaps it will be okay_, he thought. Maybe it will be fine. __Both Estel and Legolas remained unhurt, for the orcs were clumsy and somewhat lazy…he and Estel had a chance…_

_But his confidence took a desperate blow. Suddenly, Legolas felt a sharp pain in his stomach, and looked down to see a small knife protruding from his skin. He hadn't even seen the orc throw it…but it was of no consequence, because now he was feeling the pain, the tremendous pain, pain that he had not felt in a very long time. It seemed to increase as his red blood flowed freely, dripping down his green tunic. The pain echoed throughout his body, and he felt himself grow weak. He fell to his knees, clutching his stomach, dropping his bow and the arrow attached to it._

_Faintly, he heard Estel call his name. It seemed as if he were in a dream; everything was happening in slow motion, the only prominent sound was of his breathing. He saw Estel sprint towards him, the orcs not far behind. Some were sneering in victory, emitting the shriek that would haunt Legolas's dreams for years to come. _

_Estel__ dropped to his knees, cradling Legolas in his arms. He looked into his friend's eyes and noticed they were brimming with tears. They both knew they would die. It was just a matter of time…_

_And as the orcs drew nearer, Legolas felt himself collapse into emptiness._

~*~

But, of course, he didn't die. And, of course, neither did Estel. 

As Legolas came back to the present, he realized that he still stood in the exactly same spot in front of the doors. He had been enthralled in his recollection of the memory, its vividness, its clarity. He had put the memory so far into the back of his mind that he had feared it lost. Alas, it was far from lost: just misplaced. And he felt as if he were reliving it, in honor of his dying friend of old.

_"I'm not dying, so will you stop it?"_

_These were the words that brought Legolas around to consciousness. His stomach ached terribly, as did his head. He lay on his back, and could feel silky sheets surrounding him. He opened his eyes, but quickly closed them. The light was too bright._

_He rubbed his eyes, still not moving from his position. He ached all over, but generally, he did not feel absolutely terrible._

_"Legolas? Legolas!"  
  
_

_He heard Estel's voice to his right, and turned his head towards the sound. _

_"Estel?"__ Legolas forced himself to open his eyes. As they quickly adjusted to the light, he saw his friend sitting up in bed, being pampered by Healers. They constantly checked the color of his eyes, the texture of his skin, the healing process of his wounds, poking and prodding him, asking him question after question, sometimes repeatedly. They seemingly would not leave him alone, and he could tell by the look on his friend's face that it was driving him mad._

_"Legolas!__ Oh, thank Elbereth!" He could hear the relief in his friend's voice, and gently smiled at it._

_"Look, see? Your prince is awake. Tend to him. Leave me alone." Estel stubbornly pointed to Legolas, shooting daggers at the Healers with his eyes, slapping their prodding hands. _

"_Oh thanks, Estel," he replied as the Healers B-lined for him. They sat him up like a child, and began to tenderly check his bruises and his wound on his stomach. They pinched his skin, looked in his eyes, checked in his mouth. _

_"Anytime."__ His friend sat back in his bed and smiled at him. _

_But as Legolas moaned in pain when the Healers studied his stomach, the smile faded and a look of concern spread across his friend's face. "How are you feeling?"_

_"Fine."__ Legolas supposed the grimace on his face told his friend otherwise._

_As the Healers continued to poke and prod him, he heard the door on his left open. He turned to see who was in the door. He wished he hadn't. Thrnaduil and Elrond entered, grave and serious expressions on their faces. Suddenly, Legolas would have given anything to be unconscious again._

_"Leave us." The intonation in his father's voice was a pure sign that he was extremely upset. The Healers left, single file. When the door was closed, Thranduil did not hesitate in his rampage. "What in Elbereth's name did you think you were doing?!" The question echoed against the walls of the chamber. Legolas lowered his head, and ransacked his brain for a decent answer. It had been Estel's idea to go into the forest;hHe had 'wanted to look for adventure'. Unfortunately, the adventure had found them._

_But there was no way that Legolas would blame this occurrence on Estel. So he answered, "I'm sorry."_

_"You're sorry? You're sorry!" the King bellowed in amazement, throwing his hands up in the air. "Do you realize that you almost died? You were bleeding so profusely that you almost all of the life within you had gone." Legolas did not know this. And, he suddenly realized, he did not know how he was alive. The last thing he remembered was the orcs attacking…had Estel fought them all off?_

_"Legolas, why…why…" He looked to his father and, to his surprise, noticed he was trembling. It was as if Thranduil's emotions had completely transfigured themselves in a matter of seconds. Instead of wearing the outraged expression he wore before, his face was now slack and pale.  He could see tears forming in his eyes, and opaqueness spread over his face. He looked as if he were frightened beyond belief. Legolas was shocked at his father's unexpected transformation. Elrond put a hand on Thranduil's back, as if to reassure and steady him. His father hung his head for a few moments, regained his composure, then straightened himself and looked directly at his son. He cleared his throat, and walked towards Legolas._

_He took Legolas's face in his hands and kissed the top of his head. "Legolas," he murmured. "My son."_

_He found his father's behavior somewhat peculiar. He had expected his father to scream at him, lose his usually-calm persona, prohibit him from entering the forest again, and storm out of the room, mumbling about his disrespectful and irresponsible heir. Instead, his father held him tightly. He could tell his father was crying by his ragged breathing. Suddenly, Legolas felt immensely ashamed for bestowing such grief upon his father. Going into the forest was a selfish act, but impacted his father as well. He felt totally and utterly guilty for his father's tears._

_Thranduil__ let him go and quickly wiped his tears from his face. He placed a hand on Legolas's head and gently looked down at his son. Legolas could tell his father was trying to hold back tears._

_"Get some rest," he whispered. He looked over to Estel and said, "That includes you as well."_

_Estel__ nodded, avoiding both his own father's and Thraduil's eyes. Elrond walked over to his son and kissed his forehead, mumbling something in his ear before both fathers turned quietly walked out of the room, closing the door lightly behind them._

_Estel__ let out a breath of air. "Whew," he replied, running a hand through his chestnut hair. "I was expecting a lot of reprimanding and yelling…actually, I was expecting anything but that__."_

_Legolas__ nodded, narrowing his eyes curiously towards the door. He understood that his father was undoubtedly concerned for his well-being, but he had found his behavior strange. He seemed to be overreacting, since Legolas was fine and in good health. He was acting as if he were undeniably relieved, as if he had gone through the process of losing a son before…_

_"Legolas."___

_He turned towards Estel, who said, "Thanks."_

_"For what?" he asked, confused._

_"For not dying."___

_Legolas__ laughed, but when he saw the sincere look on his friend's face, he stopped. _

_"You were close to death."_

_Legolas__ felt uncomfortable discussing that situation; he had no memory of it. He cleared his throat, and changed the subject. "How did you fight them off?"_

_Now it was Estel's turn to laugh. "I'm flattered that you think I took on a thousand orcs by myself, and I would love to tell you that I did. But the Mirkwood Guard heard the war-cry of the orcs and came to our assistance."_

_Legolas__ nodded. The two friends remained in silence for a good few minutes. Legolas was immersed in contemplation about his father's reaction. It was just so puzzling, so out of character for him. His usually calm and collected father lost control of his emotions. He never cried. He didn't even cry when his mother died…_

_"Legolas?"__ He once again turned to look at his friend, and was overjoyed to see the same glint of mischief in his eyes. _

_"What?" _

_"Think we'll ever be in a situation like that again?"_

_Legolas__ studied Estel. He wondered where they would be in perhaps fifteen years. He tried to picture Estel as a grown man with responsibilities…it was impossible. "Knowing you, Estel, I wouldn't doubt it."_

_~*~_

Had Legolas known his friend would be in a situation like that again, he would have never left his side. But his friend had faced that situation alone. And now he was dying because of it. 

The were no more excuses for procrastination. Legolas had to open the doors to the death chamber in which Estel lay. He reached for the door handle, and felt the cold metal beneath his hands. He pulled…inside, laying on a waist-high block of stone, with blankets encircling him every direction, was his dying friend. The Healers surrounded him, cleaning his wounds, his face, his clothes. Purification and cleaning was the first step in the preparation of a soul for his death.

"_I'm not dying, so will you stop it?"_

_But you are, mellonin_, thought Legolas. _You are dying._

_"Look see? Your prince is awake. Tend to him. Leave me alone."_

_Nay, Estel, there is nothing the Healers can do for me._

And as Legolas stood there, looking at his friend with grief-stricken eyes, he heard the Healer murmur to another. "He will die within the hour."

~*~

Hmmm…..good chapter? WOW, this chapter was hard to write. Seriously…I think it took me three days. 

This chapter is dedicated to **Konjurer, for being such an awesome fan, an influential writer, and a great constructive critic. I really appreciate it, _mellon_.__**

Thanks to all of my reviewers!

**Elentari**** Manwe: I do think Gandalf was there more than 2000 years ago…I just wasn't sure. Thanks for your review! I'm glad you enjoyed the interaction between Gandalf and Theoden…I wasn't sure if it was realistic, but I'm glad it was.**

**Stephanie-Lou: **Thanks for the info on Gandalf…I wasn't exactly sure of the life-span of an Istari, but I'm glad you clarified it for me! Thanks for the reviews…keep 'em coming!

**Mydogisfudge****: Here's another flashback…err…well, kinda. I'm glad you think they're in-depth….detail is of great importance to me! Thanks for the review!**

**QT-pie pippinsgirl: **Yes, well, I want to shoot Theoden too. But can you blame him? He WAS almost strangled to death…hmm. And vengeance has a hold on him. So maybe I don't hate him so much either…no, I definitely think I do. Thanks for the review!

**Aria Nightwing: **I'm glad the grief was touching…I love to use emotions in my chapters, though they are tiring. Oh! And as for Eomer…you will hear from him later….so stay tuned! Thanks chica.

**Legolasluver****: Well, sorry to disappoint…I don't think there will be any Eowyn + Legolas in this story…I don't think it fits nicely into the flow of things. But as for your anger at Theoden, I can relate. Bastard…how dare he kick out my elf? ;-D Thanks for your reviews.**

**Twisted Fool: **LOL. Love the "hope-boy". I know I didn't resolve that yet, but…you don't care, do you? Just as long as YOUR elf is okay. I can't even promise that right now…sorry. Thanks for your reviews!

**White Wolf: **Thank you for complimenting me on my description of feelings. I love descriptions…can you tell? ;-D And thanks for all of your awesome reviews…they are very much appreciated! 

**Silverviolinist16: **Hmm…I thought Aragorn's elvish name was Estel…am I wrong? Hmmm…o well. Thank you so much for reviewing!

**Randomramblings****: Take a break from that Chinese homework and celebrate that I put Legolas in this chapter! It was a whole chappy on him…and a long one, at that. Thanks for your reviews….I hope you enjoyed Legolas!**

**Rosie: **Sorry about your busy life…I am so flattered that you took time out of it to read my fanfic! ;-D And I hope you liked this chapter…..thanks for reviewing.

**Shetani****: Thank you for your reviews! They're awesome…..I hope I have you on the edge of your seat. Thanks so much, hun….the reviews are greatly appreciated.**

**Solana, the East Wind: **I love Estel too….so you're not alone. Thanks for your awesome reviews…I'm glad you like the story!

**The Dark Rogue: **I'm glad you like the story! (even though you hate Eowyn and, understandably, Theoden). Thanks for being an awesome reviewer….enjoy!

**Ursula: **I hope you read the rest of my story, but thank you so much for your review.

**Orangeblossom**** Took: Thanks for the well-wishes…I need them. And thanks for your awesomely positive reviews…you've been a reader from the start, and I greatly appreciate it.**

**Silvertoekee****: Here's what Legolas is thinking…but sorry, I really haven't touched upon Aragorn yet. Stay tuned though…and thanks for being such a loyal reviewer.**

**Konjurer****: I dedicated this chapter to you because of your ego-boosting, evil-twin, talented-writing skills. You are awesome! You give me the confidence I need to continue writing. AND you give me those Orlando Bloom pics…what more could a girl want? ;-D Thank you so much for all of your awesome reviews and encouragements at…um….three in the morning. *stupid Reaganomics* I hope you continue to write…you are a very talented writer. Thanks for being such an awesome fan. You're the best. Thanks, _mellonin__._**

187 reviews. That's almost 200. Which is almost 215. Which almost makes me feel faint. Thanks so much, _mellonin__._


	27. Death of a Star

**Disclaimer: **Nope. Absolutely nothing if you saw it/them in the books. And, yes, you know what I'm talking about.

**A/N: **215 reviews…you guys are great…I'm trying not to sound like a broken record, but you guys are AWESOME! Ok, on a more serious note: this is a depressing chapter. There is no glimpse of happiness to be found anywhere in it. It will probably shock many of you who read it…so proceed with caution. Now, chapter 27…

**The Shadow of Death**

****

_Death of a Star_

Gimli looked completely comfortable. Gandalf didn't know how the Dwarf could sleep so soundly; between his injuries, the cold, and the hard, stone floor, he thought that he wouldn't have gotten any sleep at all. Apparently he was wrong…

He stood in the doorway, silently watching his sleeping friend. To the left, he saw Halinor, also asleep, breathing heavily. His injuries had been quite severe, yet luckily, due to some miracle, he had survived and was progressing nicely. Eowyn reported that he should be perfectly fine, if not a little sore, in a couple of days. Gimli's injuries weren't nearly as severe; they had been very painful, of course, but nothing grave. Nevertheless, he had done his share of complaining and moaning, and Gandalf almost smiled as he realized that nothing less should have been expected from a Dwarf. He sighed and switched all of his body weight from his left leg to his right, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway, still eyeing both Halinor and Gimli, making sure that if they were in need of anything, he would be there to help them.

The truth was that he needed to be left alone to his thoughts, but not alone completely; it was hard to explain. He had all of the time in Middle Earth to contemplate the situations at hand, but for some reason, he didn't want to. He had grown tired of it. It had grown to the point where he simply wanted to wash his hands of the whole matter, and start from a clean slate.

But the slate would not be clean. It was stained. It was discolored with a tarnish that could not be removed. Gandalf knew this, but for some reason, he still had that boyish hope of a fairy tale ending, an ending that he would have heard a mother tell her young child as a bedtime story, an ending that would make a person smile in anticipatory satisfaction, an ending where everyone was happy.

But Gandalf was more realistic than that. The ending would not turn out blissful. Estel was dying and Legolas was still falling into Shadow. There would be no fairy tale conclusion, no matter how much he hoped, nor how hard he tried. It was unavoidable…

"Mithrandir…Mithrandir!"

An extremely urgent cry shook him from his thoughts. Frowning, Gandalf turned to see a Healer, a She-Elf, running towards him at full speed, her waist-length strawberry blonde hair flowing behind her. He noticed the look of perplexity and fear on her face. It was not a good sign, and before he could speak, she did. "Mithrandir, you must come, quickly."

Gandalf felt his heart sink. "Estel isn't….he's not…"

She shook her head glibly as she pulled on the sleeve of his robe, beckoning him to come. "It's not Estel. It's Legolas…" 

"Legolas?" Gandalf asked abruptly, his heart rising to his throat. 

"Please, Gandalf. You must come immediately." The exigency in her voice was undeniable, and as he looked into her emerald eyes, he saw a great amount of helplessness and worry. He nodded, and they swiftly walked to Estel's chamber. He wanted to inquire about Legolas's condition. However, he figured against it; from the expression on her face, Gandalf could tell she did not exactly know what was going on; he would get no professional nor satisfactory answer. Thus, he tried desperately to keep up with her, realizing with chagrin that he did not walk as fast as he used to.

As they approached the chamber, he did not hear anything. There was complete silence, a silence so loud it was deafening. The Healer stepped aside, allowing Gandalf to open the doors. He swung them open, his heart racing with anticipation of the unknown, and full of worry for his two loyal friends.

The Wizard let out a horrid gasp as he surveyed the scene around him.

 Blood. Blood everywhere. There was such a vast amount of it, he felt himself retch. It lay in great pools on the gray stone floor to his left. It glistened, which meant it was newly drawn. He saw Healers, standing beside Estel's makeshift deathbed, staring in confusion and revulsion across the room. Gandalf followed their gaze, and he saw Legolas. The elf stood, back against the wall, his white knife in his hand. Blood trickled from his two slit wrists and made a sickening plopping sound onto the floor. He seemed to be in a daze, staring absent mindedly at his wounded wrists. His once shiny, pure white knife was now tainted with the burgundy liquid of life, smearing the blade and the hilt. He stood slouched over, leaning against the wall. He looked defeated, distressed, distraught. No tears flowed from his delicate chocolate eyes, no look of pain came over him.

"Legolas," Gandalf breathed, unsure of what to say. 

The elf heard him and looked up, the bemused look still plastered on his handsome face. He looked from the Wizard to his wrists and back again. He seemed uncertain of what to do next, like a young child who had been separated from his parents.

"Mithrandir…" The reply came shakily, weakly. He moved towards the elf, in hopes of taking away the knife. But Legolas immediately grew aware of Gandalf's intentions and pointed the knife towards himself. "Don't." It was meant to be a threatening word of warning. Instead, it came out as a weak, half-hearted whisper. It had a pleading tone to it, and Gandalf knew that the elf was badly injured.

"Legolas, let me help you," he replied. He did not move towards him, however, in fears of igniting the now-dormant fire within him.

"I cannot be helped." Again, a weak reply, almost inaudible.

"Legolas-"

"No. It's taking me, Mithrandir. I can feel it seep through my soul. It invades my mind, inhabits my body. It cannot be stopped. I will not let it get the best of me." The whole while Legolas looked at his wrists.

"You can overcome it." Gandalf had hoped it would be a statement of reassurance, but it came out weaker than he had anticipated. And Legolas, still having some Elvish senses left with him, could detect his apprehension.

"Can I? No, _mellon__, you know I can't. I would be felled to it like Emradril. I would live in disgrace, an existence worse than death. Predestination does not fare well with me. I am no longer in control of many of my feelings or actions…the least I can do is be in control of my own death." Exhausted as the response was, Gandalf knew it was not negotiable; there would be no convincing him otherwise._

But Gandalf would try. "Do not do this, Legolas. Your father needs you. Your people need you. Your friends need you. Middle Earth needs you. By the Valar, committing suicide is disgraceful in itself, nevertheless extremely selfish. You're taking the easy way out, something I have never known you to do." His statements came out angrier than he had intended. But he just could not see such a young elf, once so full of life and hope, be defeated by this bastard Shadow that had killed his brother. He had watched Legolas grow into a young elf, and felt a tender fatherly-compassion towards him. He had known him since his birth, and had taken it upon himself – as well as had promised his father – to let no harm come to him…he had not succeeded…

"I am not taking the easy way out, Mithrandir. If I took the easy way out, I would have done this a long time ago."

Gandalf shook his head, noticing the blood flowing from Legolas's wrists was slowing down. He was becoming alarmed; the decreasing of blood flow in an elf was always a sign of weakness and frailty. "Legolas, please…" He slowly moved towards the elf, but this time Legolas was growing too weak to react, so he simply looked at his friend of old.

"_Mellonin__, do not make this any more complicated than it is. Let me die in peace."_

Before Gandalf could respond, he saw Legolas's knees give way. He slowly sank to the floor in a sitting position, against the wall, dropping his knife with a clutter to the floor. He rushed forward, kneeling down directly in front of Legolas, grabbing his wrists with his hands to cut off the blood flow. "He needs attention, _now," Gandalf directed to the Healers. But they just stood there, looks of dread, perplexity, and sadness sprawling across their faces. They had never seen an elf behave like that before. For that matter, neither had Gandalf. _

He knew the Healers could do nothing for him. But he was in denial. He looked back to the elf, whose eyes were glazing over. "_Thranduilion__, look at me. Look at me."_

Legolas raised his eyes to Mithrandir's face, and he noticed that they had changed from the previously muddy brown to completely black. "I cannot see you, Gandalf."

The Wizard shook his head, unable to speak. Blindness was the first stage of death for an elf. He choked back tears, still holding on to Legolas's wrists. He could feel the warm stickiness flow over his hands and slide down his arms.  "Do not despair, _mellonin__. This is the only way." His voice sounded oddly serene._

Once again, Gandalf shook his head. Then, when he had pushed the sobs from his throat, he quietly and unsteadily replied, "I could not save you."

"No one could. The only person who could save me was me. I failed, Mithrandir. I failed you. I failed my father. I failed Eowyn, Gimli, Haldir….I failed Estel." Gandalf saw one tear fall from Legolas's half-closed eyes. He watched it descend his face, slide down his cheek, dripping from his chin into a pile of blood on the stone floor. He looked at the elf again, his face becoming slack, his eyes slowly closing.

"You didn't fail anyone, Legolas. You are like a brother to all of your friends, like a son to me…"

Legolas smiled softly, then replied, "Mithrandir, tell Gimli that his friendship has meant the world to me. Tell him to keep his dwarvish stubbornness, his firey personality, his love for adventure. Tell him he is one of the best friends I have ever had. I will miss him dearly…"

Gandalf knew that Legolas wasn't saying this for effect. It was a tradition for elves to pass on their farewells to friends and family not present. It was an honor to whom these words were told to, a semi-sacred ceremony in the event of death. Thus, he said nothing, only nodding to show he understood, trying to pay attention, trying to shove his grief aside.

"Estel…tell…te-tell him that he…he was the best friend I ever had…I love him like my own…my own brother…d-don't let him di-die, Mithrandir…you ha-ave to tell him…"

It was getting hard for Legolas to speak. His breathing had become shallow and he began to emit rugged gasps for air. He was trembling. Gandalf let go of his wrists, wiped his hands on his robes, and placed a soothing palm over Legolas's forehead, stroking his soft skin, letting him know that he would be there with him to the end. 

"Mith….Mithrandir…I cannot fin-finish….you…you must tell my father….."

"Shh, Legolas, I know…I know…" He was desperately trying to be comforting, while trying to keep his own overflowing emotions under control. He had never felt so utterly upset and saddened in his life. He felt as if he were losing a son.

"Mithrandir."

A fresh, female voice enabled Gandalf to tear his eyes away from Legolas. It was the She-Elf Healer who had spoken. She was hovering over Estel.

"What?"

"Estel is waking."

Gandalf's heart jumped to his throat. Estel was waking…he was alive: a miracle sent from the Valar. This could be the one chance to save Legolas, to drag him from the dark abyss from which he was being pulled into…

"_Legolas_!___ Estel is waking. He is alive."_

A wide smile spread across the elf's face, his eyes glistening with tears of joy. "Estel's alive…Estel's alive…"

"Yes. Legolas, Estel survived. You must live for him…"

"Estel's alive…." Legolas whispered repeatedly, again and again. He was crying tears of joy, the smile still wide on his face. Gandalf knew that Legolas did not answer his pleads, for he had lost the ability to hear. 

Gandalf felt his tears flow freely now, his hand now stroking Legolas's jet black hair, pushing it away from his face. But he saw the shimmer from the elf's eyes slowly fading, and he knew, deep down inside, the end was terribly near.

"Mithrandir…thank…thank Estel…"

"Thank him for what?" Gandalf asked, despite the fact that Legolas could not hear him.

"Thank Estel for living..."

And as Gandalf nodded, Legolas took one last breath into his lungs. His body shuddered softly, his eyes slowly closed, his body went limp, his blood stopped flowing. The Wizard, hot tears streaming down his face, leaned over and kissed Legolas's forehead. Sobs of utter grief and despair were threatening to escape his mouth, but he kept them in check as he whispered a final farewell to his son.

"_Wanya__ mi seere, yondonin."_

~*~

_Wanya__ mi seere, yondonin means, roughly, "Go in peace, my son."_

I hope I have done the poor elf justice in the event of his death…but in that I am not so sure I was successful. I hope this chapter was as powerful as it was meant to be. If it wasn't, let me know, and I'll rewrite it. I do not know if I am entirely happy about the way this chapter turned out. I would love your input. 

Thanks to all of my reviewers…I love you guys. Your personal thank-yous will be posted next chapter.  


	28. Sunshine After a Storm

**Disclaimer: **This is really getting tiresome to worry about…stupid disclaimer. I mean, come on. Seriously. Who's going to honestly think that I own the LotR characters? For those of you who do: I don't. The end.

**A/N: **Wow. What a tremendous response! Thank you to all of my reviewers….230 reviews. Mwahahahahaha……that's awesome. Anywho, sorry I didn't give you personal thank yous last time. I was a bit depressed…I had grown rather fond of Legolas and felt rather bad about killing him. But, life moves on. And so do chapters. So here's the 28th one.

**The Shadow of Death**

_Sunshine After a Storm_

The nothingness no longer engulfed him. Then what was surrounding him? He saw flashes of white cloth, hushed voices, sobs of…sadness? Was he dead? The world around him slipped in and out of focus, and he decided to no longer keep them open. His head pounded, his muscles ached, and his lungs felt weak. With each intake of air it felt as if his chest would explode, so he kept his breathing as shallow as possible.

_Arwen__..._

Arwen. He had just seen her…hadn't he? Impossible…he had gone on the quest to destroy the One Ring…but the Fellowship had broken apart…Samwise and Frodo had gone to Mordor, Merry and Pippin had kidnapped. Boromir had departed from this earth…

That left he, Gimli, Gandalf, and Legolas…

_Legolas__._

His mind raced. _Shadow.__ Fall. Emradril. Dying. Orc. _

Aragorn desperately tried to take a hold of recent events. But he simply could not remember. He knew Legolas was falling into Shadow…how could he forget? But how had he gotten to be this tired, lying down, surrounded by wisps of white and whispers of words? In the swirl of confusion, Aragorn heard a voice: "Estel is waking."

_I'm waking, _he thought. _But waking from what?_

Incapacitated by confusion, he blocked out all of the voices he heard around him. He was aggravated with himself…why couldn't he remember anything? There had been a battle at Helm's Deep. They had been victorious against the vicious Uruks that had killed so many…

_The Uruks._

He had been injured in a battle against them. The dam of disorder had been broken, and memories from the recent past flowed freely through his brain. He had been injured…and badly. He was dying, but he had been sent back from the limbo of fatality for a reason…

_Arwen__._

_Legolas__._

Arwen had sent him back to save Legolas. He felt his heart grow light and his aches fade as he remembered that he had a goal to achieve. He had to save his best friend. A friend who had been there for him through good and bad, a friend who had nursed him back to health, a friend who meant more to him than just a comrade…he was a brother. And he loved him dearly…he forced himself to open his eyes. His vision was hazy, and the room spun on an ever-revolving axis, threatening to make him sick. But he forced himself to keep his eyes open. He needed to see Legolas, he needed to save him, he needed to be there for him.

"Mithrandir…"

The same soft voice again. He looked in the direction of it and saw a sharp contrast of white and bronze standing over him. He felt this person lay a hand on his forehead; it was smooth and cool and surprisingly comforting. But his vision grew no clearer.

"Estel."

A voice to his left…he turned to the other direction and saw another wisp of white. But he immediately recognized the voice.

"Gandalf." His voice croaked and cracked, uneven and full of pain. It had hurt tremendously to utter that one name; his throat now felt as if it were on fire, his tongue clumsy and his mouth dry. Apparently, Gandalf saw this.

"Shh, Estel. Do not speak. You have been through much."

He decided to take his advice. He felt his head being lifted and a cool liquid being put to his lips. He drank fully, quenching his thirst and simultaneously alleviating the pain in his throat, creating a cooling and soothing sensation in his chest. He wanted to thank the bearer of the water, but his strength was dangling by a thin strand. 

In vain, he tried to sit up, only to be restrained by Gandalf. "'Tis not the time to show heroics, Estel," the Wizard softly warned, pushing him down. He rested his head once again, but sensed an uneasy and melancholy feeling all around him. Perplexed but in no mood to inquire, he lay there, desperately trying to focus his eyes…they refused to comply.

"My eyes…" he managed to say. He saw the Wizard nod, and soon thereafter a cool, wet cloth was laid over his eyes. It had a familiar scent that he finally recognized to be athelas. The effect was almost immediate. He could feel the itchiness in his eyes relax and finally disappear all together. It felt as if tremendous pressure had been lifted from his eyelids, and when the cloth was removed from his eyes, he could see perfectly.

Gandalf was to his left, a delicate-looking She-Elf Healer stood to his right. She was now grinding up more athelas, and the mint-like scent infiltrated his nostrils. He looked from her to Gandalf once again, and saw the Wizard smile faintly at him. But a cloudy look inhabited his eyes, and at once Aragorn knew there was something amiss.

"What's wrong?" 

"Nothing, Estel. You just had us worried…"

Aragorn shook his head; he knew a blatant lie when he heard one. "What's wrong?" he repeated.

Gandalf sighed, his shoulders ascending and descending with the intake and exhaling of air. He slowly shook his head, lowering his eyes to the floor. Aragorn followed his eyes and, to his dismay, saw blood smearing the Wizard's sleeves. "Gandalf? Your sleeves…." Gandalf's eyes snapped to Aragorn's face, as if he had unintentionally let lose a deadly secret, His eyes boring into his own. They seemed to be searching Aragorn's face for…something. What exactly they were looking for was undisclosed. He knew Gandalf was choosing his words carefully. He could almost see his old friend's mind turning, contriving some explanation, cautiously picking out what he would say. The fact that he took so long to speak was alarming Aragorn beyond belief.

"Estel," he began. But he did not finish…it seemed as though he didn't know how to. Now fully distressed, Aragorn sat straight up. He felt intensely dizzy and his head pounded, but he did not dwell on them. He tried to swing his legs over the side of the makeshift bed, but he noticed they were firmly wrapped in blankets. He quickly took them off, flinging them every which way.

"Gandalf, tell me," he pleaded in a weak voice, now trying to stand up. But the Wizard prevented him from doing so by resting both of his hands on Aragorn's shoulders. This gesture was not only for Aragorn's sake; Gandalf seemed to be steadying himself as if he suddenly felt sick. He took in a sharp breath of air and slowly let it out. "Estel…Legolas…"

Aragorn's blood pulsated in his temples, and he could hear his heart skip a beat. 

_Legolas__…Legolas…_

"Gandalf, what's wrong with Legolas?" He tried to keep his voice as logical and emotionless as possible. But the shakiness and desperation saturated the question as if it were a sponge.

Gandalf looked up into his eyes, and he felt his heart sink when he saw tears brimming in them. "_Mellonin__, _Legolas is dead."

_Legolas__ is dead…_

_Legolas__ is dead…_

_Legolas__ is dead…_

_  
Legolas is dead…_

Those three words resounded in Aragorn's mind. He felt his throat clench, his body shudder, his heart tear. 

_No…he can't be…_

Aragorn knew not what to do. He stood there, his eyes wide, his jaw slack, his heart aching beyond compare. He shook his head, dumbfounded, distressed, distraught…

"No…"

Gandalf said nothing.

"When…?"

Gandalf sighed and shook his head. "It does not matter…"

"When?" The question was more persistent now.

"Perhaps a half an hour ago."

_I was too late. I didn't succeed. I should have died. I couldn't save him. Legolas is dead. He's gone…forever…_

"How?" 

The Wizard backed away slowly, his eyes still lowered to the ground. "Estel, it's not important…"

"Can you not give me a straight answer? I asked a question! Tell me how!" he screamed. He had unknowingly stood up, his hands clenched at his sides. Tears streamed down his face, his body convulsed painfully. He felt weak in the knees, nauseous, tired, and overall feverish. But he didn't care. Legolas was dead…

 "He took his own life. The Shadow was overtaking his soul. As an elf, he decided to die honorably and by his own choosing."

Estel looked to the ground, tears falling from his face onto the stone floor. He was shaking as if he were cold. Denial swept through him, embedding itself in his brain. But in his heart he knew the truth: Legolas was dead…and he wasn't coming back.

"Estel."

Aragorn looked up to Gandalf, and was surprised to see that tears welled up in his eyes. "He died with the knowledge that you live." He nodded, too emotionally exhausted to speak.

"And Estel…he wanted me to thank you."

"For what?" he managed to whisper.

"For living."

Despite the pain that retched within his soul, despite the bitterness of loss that hung over him like a menacing cloud, despite the incomplete feeling that his heart possessed, he smiled. "He remembered…"

Legolas had remembered what Aragorn had said to him barely ten years before. Legolas's last thoughts were of him, last words were of him, his last breath cast at his own expense. A tenderness wrapped itself around his heart. Legolas died with a memory they shared…

"Does anyone else know?" 

Gandalf shook his head slowly. 

Aragorn nodded, clearing his throat. Tears threatened to rain again, but he held them back. Crying would not change anything. Though he felt undeniably incomplete and hollow, he spoke. "I will tell them."

~*~

Gimli took the news well, but then again, it wasn't customary for Dwarves to grieve in public. He had simply nodded, his jaw clenching, his breathing labored. He could tell he hadn't cried in perhaps fifty years, and was trying incredibly hard not to. Thus, with a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, Aragorn had left him to his mourning. He knew how close he and Legolas had gotten in the past months. It would not be easy for Gimli to forget it.

Traveling down the hallway, his legs still weak and head still aching, Aragorn decided to find Eowyn. Gandalf had volunteered to tell her of Legolas while Aragorn had decided to tell Gimli. However, he knew Eowyn would be distraught; she would feel as if it were her fault she could not rectify Legolas's fate. He felt obligated to help her grief pass, and knew his presence would at least be of comfort to her. 

He felt his heart beat faster as he approached her chambers. He did not wish to see any more of his friends in pain, as he knew Eowyn would be. He already had to figure out how to deal with the utter sadness welling up in his heart; he did not know if he were in the condition to help someone else overcome it. With these thoughts in mind, he cautiously, if not hesitantly, opened a heavy oak door to his right. At first he didn't see or hear anything, but as his eyes slowly grew accustomed to the dimness, he could make out a dainty figure, silently standing with her back to him, staring out the window.

For some reason, Aragorn felt as if he were disturbing her thoughts. He stood there for a couple of seconds, then turned to leave.

"Aragorn?"

He stopped and looked up, clearing his throat. He saw her turn to him, but did not see her swollen eyes and welled up tears until she had wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight.

"Oh, Aragorn…"

He could feel her warm, salty tears saturate his shirt as she clung to him and sobbed. He felt nothing but complete emptiness in his heart, a void where there should have been memories of his friend. Past memories of he and Legolas would be clung to, present memories would be stored with past ones, and future memories….future memories would never be created.

It was this thought that made him cry.

They held tightly to each other, crying into each other's shoulders. Aragorn couldn't remember the last time he cried so hard, so bitterly, so… _willingly_. It was as if with each tear that departed from his eyes, a piece of his despair and mourning departed from his body with it. But Aragorn knew there weren't enough tears in the world to rid his soul of its absolute misery.

Aragorn stopped crying long before Eowyn did. Nevertheless he held onto her, feeling her sob and shake, knowing the tiresome melancholy she must be feeling. His sympathy lay with her, knowing she had suffered much. Her sobs finally died down to small gasps of air, her shaking eased to a faint trembling. He gently let go of her and she looked up into his eyes. Her own were red and puffy. Trails of wetness, left by dozens of ears, were visible, randomly lining her delicate face. 

"I thought you were dead."

The statement took him by surprise. Consequently, he had forgotten about his injuries and near-death experience. In his mourning over his best friend, he hadn't had time to worry about himself. His heart warmed over as he realized that Eowyn had not only been worried about Legolas, but must have been worried about him. She had been through much. He gently smiled down at her. "You thought wrong."

Eowyn gave him a faint smile in return. She wiped her eyes as if she were trying to wipe away her guilt and grief surrounding Legolas's death. She took a shaky intake of breath, then slowly let it out. "Gandalf said he went in tranquility."

Aragorn nodded, though he realized he still didn't know the details surrounding his friend's death. He had taken his life before the Shadow plunged him into an everlasting void of disgrace. But he did not know how he had taken his life. And honestly, he had not the heart to hear it. "'Tis the best way to die." Aragorn's voice was shaking again, and the threatening of tears overwhelmed him. But he managed to keep them from falling.

She took his hands in hers. "I must go see my uncle," she whispered, looking down at the floor.

Aragorn nodded and let go of her hands. The expression of pure guilt lined her face. He knew what she must be feeling, and his heart reached out towards her. He gently kissed her on the forehead and whispered, "There's always sunshine after a storm."

Eowyn looked up at him, hope filling her eyes for the first time in a long while. Then, with one last forced smile, she walked around him and out of the chamber. He sighed, and slowly strolled to the window where Eowyn had previously been standing. Daybreak was commencing. "Well, _mellonin__, _you will be missed," he started, the tears flowing once more as he watched the sun rise from the horizon, casting a pinkish glow over the land. 

"But you will be remembered. Always."

~*~

TBC…..

Yes, I still have a couple more chapters left for you TSoD lovers, so do not fret.

Sorry about not doing the personal thank yous last time, but here they are now!

**Nyctophobia****: **I'm so glad you enjoy this story! I hope you liked this chapter…it wasn't very action packed, but I thought it was important to include the reactions and interactions between various characters. Thanks for all of your awesome reviews.

**Sweet-n-sour Slytherin: **Yeah, I must admit, Legolas has had it pretty rough in this story. Every time I read someone else's Leggy-angst fanfic, I feel extremely bad for Legolas. How ironic: I love torturing him in MY story! ;-) Thanks for your review!

**Angel of Death: **Well, I didn't kill off Estel….I hope you're happy! I debated about killing him over and over in my head for the past….um….maybe week. I finally decided not to kill off the poor mortal, and kill off the poor IMmortal instead. ;-P Thanks for your reviews.

**Gwyn****: **I'm glad you found it terribly effective. I was worried when I posted that it was terribly INeffective, and that I would have reviewers with pitchforks and torches standing outside of my door. But I'm glad it all worked out! Thanks for your awesome input and your loyal reviews.

**Aria Nightwing: **Thanks for the blessing of the Prof AND of the Valar…I think it helped me pound out this chapter in an astounding forty-five minutes. I really appreciate all of your reviews. I hope I didn't make you THAT upset…I hate it when stories make me cry. Oh well. Thank you so much for your reviews.

**Irishancest****: **YOU FLATTER ME!!!! ;-) Thank you so much! Wow, best Lord of the Rings fanfic….that's too much to handle…actually it's not…I'm just smiling so wide my face is cramping up! You really made my day with that review. I try so hard to reward my readers and reviewers with a good story. I'm glad you like it so much! Thanks for your review…you brightened my day with it.

**QTpie-pippinsgurl****: **YES! YES! I did kill of that poor elf…I'm sorry I made you sob! If you want to blame anyone, blame Emradril….he's my muse. Maybe it was his insane jealousy of his younger brother that drove him to make me kill Legolas off…but I'm glad you like this story. Thanks for your reviews.

**Mouse: **I know, this story is a BIT depressing…isn't it? ;-P I try not to make this story SO depressing that people want to go and cry, but I want to make it emotionally profound at the same time. I'm glad you find my story well-written! Thanks for your reviews.

**Randomramblings****: **Thanks! I tried not to add TOO many details to destract from the ultimate purpose of the chapter: to kill Legolas. But, at the same time, and, as you know, I am a FANATIC about using details…I really believe in the importance of them. Thank you for your reviews…I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

**Eryn**** Lasgalen: **YAY! I did Legolas justice….I'm SO happy about that. I was nervous that people would be disappointed with this chapter…but not a flamer yet! ;-) I hope I didn't make you cry TOO much… ;-) Thanks for your review, and I hope this chapter helped to ease your pain of losing Legolas. ;-)

**Dstrbd**** child: **I'm not done with the story yet!!! ;-) I still have a couple of chapters left, actually. But I am extremely glad that you liked the story so much. I would LOVE to write more stories to post! Actually, I'm working on an Aragorn angsty one right now….mwahahahaha. Thank you sooo much for your review, and keep reading! ;-)

**Silvertoekee****: **I'm sorry about the non-happy chapter. I actually wrote an alternate ending to the one I am going to post….but I didn't think that it carried the theme well enough. I believe that the one I will post mostly fits in with the rest of the story. But I AM glad that it took you by surprise! ;-) I love to surprise my readers. Thanks for ALL of your reviews.

**White Wolf: **YAY! I don't have to change a thing…how extraordinary! ;-) Thanks so much for reviewing…as a fellow Leggy-angst writer, I love to hear your opnion! I hope you liked this chapter as well….I can't wait to hear the responses I will get for the end of this story. But one step at a time! ;-) Thanks for all of your reviews…I appreciate them greatly.

**EternallyMine****: ***ducks as arrow flies past my ear* Heh…em…sorry about that. But promise you won't kill me? I mean, cuz then you won't find out what the ending is like! Please? Please?? And, I mean, since I DID save Aragorn and all…you have to let me live! You have to!! ;-) Thanks for all of your reviews. They're great.

**Twisted Fool: **Wow….it was that moving??? I AM SO FLATTERED! ;-) I mean, published or unpublished? Wow….I'm so glad you enjoyed it! I spent a while on it, and I wrote it several different ways, but I posted the one I thought matched Legolas's personality and was the most effective emotionally. Thanks for the long review! I can tell I made you sob a lot…I have some extra Kleenex if you're in need of any…trust me, I have TONS. OF COURSE you have my permission to copy and paste to read it off line. I mean, that is the BIGGEST and BEST form of flattery. You liked it so much you're reading it over and over? You're awesome. Thanks for your reviews…I hope this chapter made you want to read it over and over too! 

**SpaceVixenX****: **Thanks! I'm glad you thought it was well-done. And thanks so much for putting me on your favorites list! I'd love to hear more from you in the future, and I hope you continue to review. Thanks once again.

**Celeblas**** Elentari Manwe: **LOL. I loved the pun "I loved it to death". That was great….it made me smile, even though I feel plenty rotten for killing off Legolas…anyways, thanks for all of your reviews. I'm so glad to hear that you felt everything in this chapter… ;-) That's the effect I had hoped for. Happy reading!

**Hyperactivegirl14: **I know…Legolas IS extremely hot…in the movies, anyway. I know it seems RIDICULOUS that a Legolas fan like me would kill him…but I just felt it appropriate for the story. I still hope you enjoy my story! Thanks for your review. 

**Vilondra****, The Dark Rogue: **Yes, I knew you, above all other readers, would LOVE that chapter. Legolas is dead, Estel is waking up, and Arwen is no where to be found…you must love me. I hope you love the story, and keep up your awesome reviews! ;-)

**Lady Lenna: **YAY! I'm so happy you thought it was good. I know…Legolas dies just as Estel lives. How ironically angsty. I feel a little guilty for doing that…but it SO undeniably adds to the angst of this story. Thanks for all of your reviews, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

**Orangeblossom**** Took: **You have been a reviewer with me from the start, and it is much appreciated and well noticed. I'm glad you found last chapter to be "beautiful". I love that word when it comes to writing, and the fact that you used it to describe MY writing makes me so happy ;-) I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well.

**Ankhesanamun****: **Under NO circumstances do I regret receiving reviews from you, even THOUGH your name IS pretty long…but I've memorized how to spell it! ;-) Last chapter WAS kinda sad, and this one wasn't that much better in terms of happiness…but I'm happy you enjoyed the oxymorons! I think I used one in this chapter, but I am not sure. I love oxymorons, though. Thanks for all of your reviews…and I don't mind your name at all! ;-)

**LOTRFaith****: **Thank you so much for adding me to your favorites list! I am really, INSANELY, happy that you did so. I thank you so much! ;-) I hope I didn't depress you, however…most of my readers are tending to be depressed. This chapter didn't help that depression, I'm sure. But nevertheless, thank you so much for your review!

**Konjurer****: **Ok, I know, I know….you didn't review. But I decided to leave you a message anyways. After your finals are done on friday, you SOOO better start writing. Trust me, I'll know if you are. Anywho, once again, thanks for all of your ego-boosting comments. Seriously, they're making me a selfish, self-centered brat (they're not, but they just might). You're an awesome fan and an awesome reviewer. And I HOPE you did well on your German…I know you did. And I know that you're thinking about Pre Calc. So stop. ;-) Thanks again, mellonin.

Alright. 235 reviews. Outstanding! Brilliant! Thanks, guys. But remember: I still have a couple more chapters to write. Get excited.


	29. Light of Life, Dawn of Days

**Disclaimer: **Still don't. Sorry.

**A/N: **Alright. This chapter sucks. No, I am being completely serious. I threw this chapter down on Microsoft Word in seriously…..thirty-four minutes. I wrote another one, but quickly deleted it due to unsatisfactory comments from my muse…thanks, Emradril. The words just kept tumbling out of my brain, and I almost couldn't fit them all together in order to produce a decent chapter. But, by the grace of the Prof, I did. I think. I hope. Enjoy.

**The Shadow of Death**

****

_Light of Life, Dawn of Days_

The wind was cold. Very cold. Yet, being an elf, Thranduil had never taken heed of the cold. His elven traits had protected him from the cold all of his life, but there was no avoiding it now. The air was so cold it hurt his lungs when he inhaled. It made his eyes sting, his hands grow numb, and his body shiver. And as the arctic winds swirled around him, the elf struggled to sort out his emotions, of which he had so he had so many.

Thranduil stood in front of his son's grave, looking up in to the overcast sky. The clouds were dark and flat, covering the heavens as far as the eye could see. There was neither a ray of sunshine nor a touch of warmth to be seen nor felt. 

And this did not help lift his breaking heart.

He could not cry. When Mithrandir himself had arrived in his realm with what was left of the Fellowship, he knew something was wrong. His son was no where in sight. And, in a cart attached to Aragorn's horse, laid a body wrapped in Elvan white ceremonial cloth. 

The cloth of death.

His son was dead.

Thranduil was no foreigner to death. His wife was dead. Emradril was dead. Now, Legolas was dead. He had no family left. He felt like an empty shell of his former self. A numbness that started in his heart now broadened its scope to encompass his entire body. This was a similar feeling that had engulfed him when his wife and Emradril had passed.

But as much as he ever loved his wife and Emradril, Legolas was special.

Legolas had an essence to him that drew all creatures to him. He always had an aura of life surrounding him, a refreshing boyishness that quenched the thirst of the old and hopeless. He had the persona and intelligence of the king he was destined to become. His friends loved him, his people loved him, and everyone who ever met him grew to love him as well. He looked like Emradril, had the personality of Thranduil, and had the brilliance and talent of his mother. Legolas embodied and resembled everything his father loved.

And now he was dead.

There would be an entire month of mourning for his son in Mirkwood. Legolas was dearly loved by his people, and their hearts quivered with sadness at the very thought of his absence. But, as was customary for elves, the realm and its people honored their lost prince with stories of him, the sharing of memories, of lamentations. Somber singing of traditional mourning songs filled the air. It had only been four days since he had found out of his son's death, but in those four days, Thranduil had never felt so lonely in his life; Mithrandir had even threatened to take him to the Healers. He would not eat, he could not sleep. He simply sat on Legolas's old bed, in his son's old room, staring out of the balcony into the canopies of surrounding trees. He ignored messengers, ambassadors, even members of his own High Council who had come to call. 

He didn't care. His son was dead.

His listlessness had caused great alarm among his people. They feared for the king's life. It had taken serious contemplation on his part, as well as a lot of encouragement from Gandalf, to realize he could not fail his kingdom, even if he felt like there was nothing to live for…

"…the best damned elf ever."

Thranduil was thrown back into the somber reality by a ragged and gruff voice. He looked down and saw Gimli, son of Gloin, kneeling beside his son's freshly-dug grave, furiously wiping his eyes as he gave a eulogy. The Dwarf stood up, and still looking at Legolas's grave, and backed away, tears flowing down his face. 

The king tore his eyes away from Gimli and looked to his right, where only his and his son's close friends stood. Elrond stood beside his sons Elladan and Elrohir. All three of them stood with their heads bowed in silent respect and lamentation for their lost friend. Next to them were Aragorn and Arwen, Estel embracing her as she silently cried. Gimli stood to the far right, keeping to himself. Mithrandir stood beside him, never saying a word, but offering his soundless support nonetheless, just as he had done when Emradril passed....

After a few moments of heavy silence, Aragorn stepped forward, knelt down, and placed a hand on the freshly disturbed dirt. Thranduil could see Estel's hand smoothing the upturned earth, patting it down and feeling its unsullied silkiness. With his other hand, he placed flowers, pink and white, upon the brown earth. "_Legolas__, Eowyn wanted you to have these," Aragorn stated, barely above a whisper, painfully trying to choke back tears. Thranduil noticed he was unsuccessful. "These are the flowers Haldir gave to her, remember? They will wilt in the winter but return in the spring, if they are cared for properly. She…she loved these flowers. But she felt you should have them…she said the remainder of her love for them died with you…."_

A painful sob escaped Aragorn as he buried his head in his arms. Thranduil knew he had taken the news of his son's death hard. He also knew, as Mithrandir told him, he had lost twenty of his own scouts to Uruk Hai. The king knew his heart must be submerged in deep grief, and he felt a tenderness towards Estel that he never had before.

Arwen moved forward to comfort Aragorn, but her father stopped her. "Let him be," Thranduil heard Elrond whisper to her. Arwen was obviously distraught, her own tears falling, but obeyed her father. It took a few minutes for Estel to gain control over his tears. But everyone waited, hardly a face dry, not a heart without pain. Only Thranduil's face remained arid, for his soul was doing all of the crying.

"_Mellonin__," Estel whispered and started again, only to realize he couldn't finish. This one word said it all. It held within itself the love between them, the brotherhood they felt, the loss Estel would have to endure, the memories that would be cherished. This one word told more about Aragorn's soul to Thranduil than he had ever known. It was at that moment that the king realized how much Estel cared for his son. And, to Thranduil's surprise, he felt a tear drip from the tip of his chin onto the grass. He had not cried for perhaps a thousand years. He didn't cry when his wife died. He had only cried briefly when Emradril died. But now that the last remaining member of his family was dead, he couldn't control them._

He began to sob.

Knowingly, no one comforted the king. Thranduil needed to be alone to deal with the pain of loss that completely engulfed him. He buried his face in his hands. As if from a distance, he could hear the mourners slowly walk away, leaving the king to be alone with his son.

The sobbing continued for a good hour. He simply could not stop. Memories of his wife, of Emradril, and of Legolas engulfed his brain…fragments of jokes, laughter, and voices echoed in his ears…he could see Legolas learning to ride a horse…Emradril being accepted into the Mirkwood Guard…his wife laughing during their wedding reception. It was so overwhelming, so intense, that Thranduil was overcome with sadness.

He missed his wife. He missed Emradril. He missed Legolas. The only thing he had left were memories. They were more priceless than any amount of power, than any amount of mithril…they were all he had left. They were all he had left of his life without pain. They were all he had left to remind himself of how his life had been with the people whom he loved the dearest; they were invaluable.

Finally, his crying stopped all together. And that was when he looked down onto the grave of his son. His eyes trailed along the coffee-colored dirt until they rested on the branches of a fairly small tree, a tree that would mark the grave of his son forever. "Legolas," he whispered. "Legolas, do you know what this tree is?" The king now knelt beside his son's resting body. "This is the orchid tree. I suppose you do not remember…it was this kind of tree that you first climbed with _amme_. Do you remember now? How you said that you wouldn't be able to climb it? But you did, my son. You climbed that tree. _Amme needed to help you, yes. But you climbed it. Never forget, my son, you climbed that tree. And I have always been proud of you for that."_

Thranduil felt the tears descend his face once again. But this time he cried freely. And, to his surprise, he felt much better. His soul felt freer. He felt less claustrophobic, less hopeless, less hapless. He felt the great boulder of guilt rise ever so slightly from his shoulders. His son loved him. He loved his son. That was all that mattered. 

The King of Mirkwood stood and looked up into the sky. To his surprise, he saw sunlight pour in from behind the clouds, casting a warm glow over the palace garden in which Legolas was buried. It created an ethereal yet delicate glow as it shone through the branches of the newly planted orchid tree, showering the brown earth with its yellow light. 

"_Ada__, can I go outside with Amme and Emradril? It looks so pretty in the gardens!"_

Thranduil closed his eyes and breathed in the fresh air around him as he heard Legolas's voice resonate in his ears, bestowed upon him by a memory from long ago, but not forgotten. _Yes, my son, go play, _Thranduil thought. _Be with _Amme _and Emradril. Be happy, my son. You are the light of my life, the dawn of my days. I love you, Legolas, and I will miss you. _

With those last thoughts, Thranduil turned from the orchid tree that was now swaying in the wind, its branches rustling, its orchids preparing to blossom. 

~*~

I hope you liked it. Wow, this chapter made me depressed….I had no idea I would grow so attached to that elf! Anyways, I thought a change of perspective would be refreshing, thus I made it from Thranduil's POV. I honestly hoped you enjoyed…once again, I am not completely satisfied. But I did write it in thirty-four minutes. If you guys don't like it, I'll rewrite it. It's just these words kept pouring out of my head onto the keyboard. I hope they made a decent chapter.

One more chapter and an epilogue on the way. I'm not doing any personal thank-yous until the end of the epilogue, but keep those reviews coming! They honestly do affect my writing, and the speed at which I produce chapters.

If you have any suggestion or plot bunnies regarding a fanfic you would like to see me write, feel free to e-mail me, IM me, or just mention it in a review. Thanks much.

259 reviews. You guys rock Middle Earth. 


	30. Everlasting Comfort

**Disclaimer: **When I become heir to the Prof's genius works, I will be sure to let you know. Until that time, I own nothing of Tolkiens. Dammit….I had to say it again. Now I'm officially depressed…..

**A/N: **Oh, MELLONIN!!!!!! You have traveled with me the road of The Shadow of Death. This is the last chapter!! ;-( But, don't fret….there will be an Epilogue posted a couple of days after this chapter. Please enjoy this chapter…I felt it was an appropriate ending to such a story…

**The Shadow of Death**

_Everlasting Comfort_

_He stood at the base of the orchid tree. _

_It was so tall, even with his Elvish vision he could not see the top of its canopy. The tree must have been at least his age, if not a few years older. Its strong, thick trunk stood before him like a pillar, as if it were a stairway to the Valar. He approached it and felt its rough bark gently scratch against his hands, smelling the old tree's mustiness. He could feel its strong life force pulsating beneath his hands. This tree had been through war, peace, storm, tranquility. It was a living testament to the past several thousand years of Mirkwood. _

_The sun shone down into his eyes through a hole in the forest canopy. He squinted, and suddenly detected voices. They were coming from the top of the tree. Legolas' curiosity got the better of him; He desperately tried to see who would be up there, laughing and talking so loudly. Alas, the tree was too tall. _

_The only option was to climb it._

_He placed his other hand and his right foot on the bark. He did it gently, as to avoid hurting the tree at any cost. Yet, for some reason, he did not feel…_adequate. _He felt unsure of himself. How could he climb a tree of this height? He felt as if he hadn't climbed a tree in years…what made him so sure he would be successful?_

_Apprehensively, he backed away. His heart was pounding in his chest, his eyes stinging. Why was he behaving like this? It was a simple tree to climb. He had scaled many, some taller than this one...so why was he having such difficulty?_

_He heard laughing again, a soft, light, airy giggle. Legolas frowned. It sounded so…_familiar. _Where had he heard this laughter before? He strained his memory, racking through it in hopes of recalling this laughter from the depths of his brain, but he could not remember. He rubbed his stinging eyes, quelled his thumping heart. He would have to climb this tree to find out from whence this laughter came. He wanted to know…he _needed _to know. _

_Approaching the bark, he felt apprehensive again, but decidedly ignored his feelings…they would be of no help to him. Closing his eyes once more and focusing his concentration on the tree, he climbed. He went slowly at first, but his footing became surer with each passing moment. He could feel his confidence increase as his climbing got faster and more efficient. He felt the pure rush of joy he got when he ascended trees, the familiar tickling sensation in his stomach. His head felt lighter, his body felt weightless…he felt as if he were flying._

_Branch after branch he conquered, bough after bough he passed. Yet the treetop did not get any closer…was he not moving? He looked down to the forest floor, and noticed he was perhaps four hundred feet off of the ground. Yet the canopy still seemed so far out of reach, so far away…_

_He climbed faster, growing more and more impatient with every moment that passed. Why could he not get to the top? Faster and faster he climbed until he lost his footing._

_And fell._

_Luckily, his Elvish reflexes saved him from falling to the ground. He grabbed onto a branch with his left hand, wrapping his nimble fingers around the coarse bark. He clung, dangling from this one branch, his heart pounding, his eyes stinging. _

I have failed…

_He had failed. He could not get to the top, he had nearly fallen. He shook his head in anger, silently reprimanding himself. _

I have failed…

_"You have not failed."_

_He looked up in surprise to see that the canopy had seemingly drawn closer to _him_. He had not moved, yet now the canopy was in reach. And suddenly, from that canopy, protruded a fragile hand, reaching down to help him. Without thinking, he took hold of the hand. It was smooth and warm. He felt himself being pulled up, through the canopy, to the top of the tree._

_The sunlight was so bright he could barely see. He squinted in pain, shielding his eyes with his arm. He could make out three figures standing in front of him, all patiently waiting for him to regain his eyesight. His eyes quickly adjusted to the light, and he saw who was standing around him._

_Haldir__.___

_Emradril__.___

_Amme__.___

_The three stood, silently watching him, smiles etched across their delicate faces. Each looked as they had the last time he saw them. His eyes filled with tears, his body uncertain of what to do. The three people he had lost, the three people whom he had loved, were standing right in front of him. It was Amme who spoke first. "Legolas," she softly cooed, approaching him. She stroked his now golden-blonde hair with her delicate fingers. "My son. You climbed the tree all by yourself. I knew you could. I always knew you could." Legolas was so overcome with emotion he could not answer. His Amme was speaking to him, touching him. Her voice was smooth, her touch was soothing. She pulled his head down and kissed his forehead, and brushed away the tears now falling from his face._

_"Do not despair, my son. You are home," she smiled at him, her blue eyes sparkling._

He was home. 

_As she backed away, Emradril moved forward. Without thinking, Legolas embraced his brother. Emradril held tightly to him, and whispered in his ear, "I missed you, brother, I missed you much. Welcome home."_

Welcome home. 

_Legolas__ smiled and wiped his face, only able to nod. He was unable to speak. As the embrace ended, Haldir moved forward. He had on the playful grin that he always wore when he and Legolas used to play together as young elflings. Legolas couldn't help but smile._

_"_Mellonin, _it's good to see you."_

_Legolas__ knew it had always been hard for Haldir to express emotion. So Legolas did it for him. "I missed you, Haldir." He smiled, and Legolas could have sworn he saw tears brimming behind his friend's eyes. "Likewise." _

_He embraced his friend, whom he had missed so much. As the embrace broke apart, thoughts raced through Legolas's mind. But, for the first time in a long while, all of them were blissful._

_He was home…he was home…welcome home…welcome home…_

_Amme__ moved forward again and took his hands in hers. They were still warm. "We missed you, yondonin. _And we love you still."__

_As she finished her words, the sunlight engulfed him. He felt himself being swallowed in a mixture of brightness and warmth._

_"Welcome home."_

_The light blinded him, the warmth made him sleepy. With those two words in his mind, Legolas fell into everlasting comfort._

He was home.

_~*~_

Yes, this is the end of The Shadow of Death. But there is an epilogue coming up in the next few days. Thanks, mellonin. You're the best.


	31. Epilogue: Circle of Light

**Disclaimer: **MY LAST DISCLAIMER….er….for this story, at least. And no, nothing has changed from the previous 30 disclaimers. If you wanna know what I mean, go read them.

**A/N: **To my reviewers and friends: thank you dearly. This has been the best writing experience ever. I never thought that I would ever have 261 reviews, a band of loyal followers, and such talented authors interested in The Shadow of Death. I really appreciate all of you who have supported me along the way: you know who you are. Thanks. Personal thank-yous will be at the end of this epilogue.

**The Shadow of Death**

****

**Epilogue**

_Circle of Light_

The child's laughter could be heard echoing throughout the palace gardens. Birds chirped, trees swayed in the gentle wind, creating a deft rustling sound that eased the soul. The sky was a clear azure, tinted with whisps of clouds that slowly traveled over Mirkwood.

King Elessar smiled as he watched his son play in the palace garden. Eldarion was giggling with delight as he tried to climb a tree. He would pull himself up, but was unable to swing his little legs successfully over the branches. The tree his son was trying to climb was in full bloom. It must have been thousands of years old but had surprisingly grown a substantial amount in the past seven years. It stood about thirty feet tall, its long branches reaching out in every direction, ornately entwined with each other. And on each branch grew pink and white flowers, in full bloom, adding life and color to its surroundings.

It was the orchid tree…Legolas's tree.

"Eldarion," Elessar called. His son looked to him with bright green eyes full of life and curiosity. His dark brown hair was messy and full of twigs and leaves. Aragorn smiled once again at his son, a smile that portrayed all of his love and tenderness for the little boy. Eldarion carefully let go of the lowest branch he was struggling to conquer, which was only two feet above the ground. He landed on his feet, a wide grin on his face, and came running towards his father. Elessar bent down and embraced him, then started pulling various pieces of debris out of his son's hair.

"_Ada__, is that an orchid tree?" _

He looked down into his son's wide and knowing eyes. Those green eyes of his mother's. He would never forget them. "Yes."

His son paused, thinking. He squinted his almond-shaped eyes and looked back towards the tree. Elessar continued to pick leaves from his son's hair. "_Ada__, there is Elvish writing on the tree," he continued slowly, studying his father's face. Elessar nodded in response. It had been seven years since Legolas's death, but not a day went by where he did not think of him.Yet his son's questions caused a lump to rise in his throat and his heart to feel empty. "I couldn't read it," his son continued, shaking Elessar from his thoughts. "But I saw my middle name written there."_

He smiled. "Your middle name is Legolas," he answered, as if to remind himself.

His son nodded, a strange look coming over his face. "Am I named after someone?"

Elessar had been contemplating when to tell his son of the origin of his middle name. It was such an intricate story, such an emotional time for him that he didn't know if he would be able to recount it, even to his own son. But the time had come, and Elessar gestured towards the tree. "That tree you were climbing on…it had Elvish inscription on it." His son nodded. "I wrote that inscription."

His son's eyes grew wide. "When, _ada__?"_

"So many years ago…before you were born." He took his son's hand in his own and led him across the freshly dew-covered grass. As Elessar approached the tree, he could feel his heart well up with mixed emotions. He felt the lump in his throat return, but he pushed it down. His son needed to know. "Do you want to know what it says?" he asked Eldarion. When his son nodded, Elessar read:

_Here lies Legolas Greenleaf, a friend beloved of many._

_His heart was stout, his friendship loyal._

_Heir to the Throne of Mirkwood,_

_Son of Thranduil and Thinnuviel,_

_Brother of Emradril,_

_Member of the Walking Nine._

_But he will be remembered,_

_His memory will live on,_

_In the hearts of those who love him._

_May the Valar bless him,_

_And his memory,_

_And honor him for his love of life and of everything good._

_~Aragorn, son of Arathorn, brother of Legolas~_

_       April 18, Third Age of Middle Earth_

"_Ada__, why do you cry?" The innocent voice of his son rang in Elessar's ears as he realized tears freely traveled down his cheeks. He tried to smile, but he was too full of grief. He simply sucked in a deep breath, and calmed himself down. His son needed to know._

"Legolas was my best friend, like a brother…"

"What happened to him?"

_Don't cry, _Elessar told himself. _You must be strong. Eldarion needs to know._

"It is a long story, my son. A very long story…"

"I want to hear it."

The stubbornness and finality to his son's answer made Elessar smile…he sounded exactly like Legolas.

With a determined sigh, Elessar nodded, took his son's hand, and sat him down under the orchid tree. They both leaned against the uneven bark, and he rested his arm across Eldarion's shoulders to pull him close, kissing his forehead and smoothing his hair. Looking down into his son's eyes, wide with curiosity and patience and youth, Elessar felt his heart lighten. He was alive, married to Arwen, and had a son whom he loved more than anything. Peace reigned over the world. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, a soft smile appearing on his lips. Legolas had not died in vain…he died so others could live…and even though Legolas's death would forever carve an emptiness in Elessar's heart and soul, he knew that his friend had gone nobly and honorably. He died in a way that had brought honor to his name; he was now spoken of as a valiant warrior throughout all of the lands, a brave protector of Middle Earth who had given his life willingly to let others live freely. 

Looking at his son again, he knew he was ready to share his memories and stories with others. Thus, he began, "I first met him when I was just about your age. I came with your grandfather on a diplomatic meeting to Mirkwood for the first time, and I found him sneaking out of his window…"

As King Elessar told his son of Legolas Greenleaf, a soft wind rustled through the forest. It carried the king's voice throughout the garden, weaved through the branches, wisped over the underbrush, and transcended into the cerulean sky above them, where it echoed to remain among the stars in the heavens for ages to come.

_You will be remembered. Always._

~*~

Ohhhh…it's the end! *sniffsniff* You guys have been the best. All of those reviews, all of those criticisms, all of those sobs….we've been through it all. I can't thank you enough. You guys have made my very first piece of fanfic writing one of the best writing experiences I've ever had. Thank you so much.

If you guys have any plot lines you would like to see me do, or have any questions or comments, feel free to e-mail me at RayzinGurl@aol.com, or IM me on RayzinGurl.

I am currently and tentatively working on a new writing piece. It should be posted by June 30. Please look for it! It's going to be Aragorn angst…I think if you enjoyed this one, you'll enjoy my next one too.

And now, personal thank-yous to my oh-so-awesome reviewers.

**Gwyn****: My oh-so-awesome plot bunny supplier! You're great. Your reviews and your input have helped me shape my story into what it is. I really appreciate it. Your ideas about a sequel were superb…I am still considering it. As for your own fics…they have tremendously wrought plotlines, and I hope you continue to write (remember, I'm just *reminding*). Thanks for being with me all of the way. I look forward to seeing your reviews next fanfic.**

**SpaceVixenX****: Thanks for your reviews. "faclempt!" You watch SNL too?? I love Mike Meyers…lol, what a coincidence. Anyways, "talk amongst yourselves" until I write my next fanfic…which should be up JUNE 30. I hope to read your reviews for chapters 29-31 as well. Thanks again.**

**QTpie-pippinsgirl****: Emradril is sore and lying in a corner somewhere because of your abuse. Thanks a lot. My muse is suffering, so my writing is too. ;-) You've been writing me reviews from the start, and I greatly appreciate it. I'm sorry you feel bad about Legolas…I hope I did the immortal justice. But blame Emradril if I didn't. He IS my muse, after all. I hope you will look for my next fanfic, coming out June 30th (about). Thanks again for all of your reviews.**

**Mouse: **Thank you! I'm glad you think it is "beautifully written"…I couldn't have gotten a better comment. You are a fairly new reviewer, and I thank you for taking interest in TSoD. I hope to see you review chapters 29-31 as well, because I would love to see my reviewers' final opinions/thoughts on the story. I look forward to seeing you review my new fanfic when it is posted. Thanks again.

**Elemariel****: Thank you for your awesome compliments! The best LotR fanfic ever written? I'm blushing! I'm glad you agree with the way I killed Legolas…I think it was the best way for him to die as well. I don't think he would have let himself fall victim to the same disease that killed his brother. I think he would have done the "martyr" death that he did in my story. Anyways, thank you very much for your reviews! I look forward to hearing what you have to say about my chapters 29-31 as well.**

**EternallyMine****: Thank you, THANK YOU for not killing me. And honestly, how could you think I would disgrace Legolas? The elf is too close to my heart to disgrace…I could never intentionally do that, and I hope I didn't! Anyways, thanks for all of your reviews. I didn't add more of Theoden in because I think it was a lost cause. I believe that he would have distracted from the message I was trying to send. The fact is that Legolas was not banished, was not punished, and died a noble death. So he didn't need to be brought back into the story at all. Thanks for all of your reviews, mellonin.**

**Aria Nightwing: **Your brother's going to Afghanistan? I'm so sorry…my cousin is in Iraq right now, so I know what you're going through. I hope that he will fare well there…and I'm sorry if this fic made you more depressed. I don't want to make you more upset! But I'm glad you thought the ending to chapter 28 was "perfect". I used "You will be remembered. Always" at the end of this chapter too because I think it added to the overall mood of the story. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed. I also hope your brother will do well in Afghanistan. Thanks, mellonin!

**Sweet-n-sour-slytherin: **Aww, I'm sorry I made you cry! I hate when fics make me cry…I always look so stupid sitting in front of the computer bawling my eyes out. But I'm glad you liked the ending. You have been a very loyal reviewer, and I thank you for that. And you are absolutely right in regards to Gandalf biding his time…I think it was hard for the poor wizard to tell Aragorn. I felt bad for him…the bearer of bad news. *sigh* Anyways, thanks again. I hope you enjoyed these last chapters!

**LOTRFaith****: Love the name, love the name. ;-) Anyways, hun, sorry about ff.net not working in regards to chapters 29-30….being stupid, I guess…what else is new? lol. Anyways, thank you so much for your awesome reviews. I really hope you enjoyed the ending! It took me a long time to decide what the ending should be like, what the Epilogue should include, etc. I wrote 3 different Epilogues before deciding on this one. So I hope it was to your liking. Anyways, thanks so much for all of your reviews. Please look for my new fanfic coming out by the end of June. Thanks, mellonin.**

**Orangeblossom**** Took: You were one of my very first reviewers. And you have NO idea how much I appreciate it. Honestly. You have always been encouraging, and from the start you have told me how much you have enjoyed TSoD…I hope these last chapters were to your liking as well! I would love to hear from you in the future with my new fanfic. I always love perceptive readers and reviewers…and you are definitely one of them! So I hope to see your reviews after TSoD. Thank you so much for all of the time you have spent on TSoD…it means a lot to me, mellonin.**

**Randomramblings****: You are not talking crap…you never talk crap! I wanted to make the connection between Rohan and Mirkwood…I needed it to make the story flow the way I wanted it to. I cannot stand choppy stories, so I tried to make mine as smooth as possible. Anyways, in regards to your top ten reasons: I'd love to hear what the other nine reasons are! But thank you for noticing that I focus more on feelings than action. I honestly believe that it is important for an author to convey to the readers what the character is feeling at a specific time. If the reader becomes familiar with the personality and reactions of a character, than the reader will become somewhat emotionally attatched to the character, and will hopefully be drawn into the story. I hope this is how it was with you! I tried to include some action to keep the story moving, but I did focus more on feeling. I'm glad you picked up on that! Anyways, thanks so much for your awesome reviews. I have to review your story with Ghilane….wow, what an ending. I hope you write more in the future. Thanks for all of your reviews, I look forward to hearing from you in the future!**

**Silvertoekee****: I hope these last few chapters answered your question about Legolas going to the Halls of Mandos. I know in the Halls of Mandos the elf is supposed to be reunited with his/her family and/or close friends. This was just my version of it, as I don't think Tolkien ever described the Halls of Mandos. Anyways, I hope you agreed, or at least sympathized, with my description of it. Thank you for reading my fic! You have been a loyal reviewer, and I really appreciate it. I hope to see you review my next fic coming out at the end of June. Thanks, mellonin.**

**Nyctophobia****: You love my story! You really really love my story!?!? Aww, I'm so happy! ;-) Thank you for reviewing. You were one of my first reviewers as well, I believe. You have been with me from the start, and I greatly appreciate that. I don't know where I got the impression you cared about action…I think I just assume that most fanfic readers like a lot of action and less feelings. I, on the other hand, care more about feelings than action. Anyways, thank you so much for all of your well-thought out and awesome reviews. I hope to hear from you in the near future, mellonin.**

**Llamrei****: I'm glad you liked Legolas's death. I wanted it to be a noble yet tragic death, and I wanted the readers to feel the pain and anguish Legolas was going through…but at the same time, I wanted the reader to understand why he chose to die the way he did. I hope I conveyed this to you. Thank you for your review! I hope you will read the rest of my story…and let me know what you think! Thank you so much.**

**Elemariel01: **Yes, I didn't kill Aragorn. Do I spy a fellow Aragorn lover as well? Hehehe. Anyways, I'm glad you thought his death was tragic. I apologize for leaving you in suspense…I hope this chapter brought you the closure you were looking for. Thanks so much for all of your reviews and support, they are greatly appreciated. I look forward to hearing from you in the future!

**Stacee**** Phelps: You're welcome very much for writing ;-) I love to write, so you don't have to thank me for it! Anyways, I know, I have put Aragorn and Gimli and Gandalf and Eowyn and Legolas through so much grief, I'm starting to feel a little sadistic…no, I'm really starting to feel VERY sadistic. But my next story is going to be an Aragorn angsty one, so I'll REALLY feel sadistic with that one. But please make sure to look for my future stories. Your reviews really helped me, and I am glad to have you as a reader. I look forward to hearing from you, mellonin.**

**Twisted Fool: **I made your day? YAAY! ;-) I'm glad I did. I am also glad that you liked this story so much. Yes, I agree with you when you say it's a bit strange…I was reading it the other day and I noticed that it is VERY strange…but the stranger the better, right? Anyways, I hope you stopped crying…in your review you sobbed a lot, and I hate to make people cry. Gwyn thought of a great sequel where Legolas would be revived, but he won't be in this story. If I decide to revive him, it will be in a sequel that I'll write in a couple of months. That way you can choose to read it if you want to, or not. I'm not even sure if I could revive the poor elf…I don't think my writing skills are up to par yet. Anyways, thanks so much, mellonin.

**White Wolf: **You cried? Wow…I'm…err…sorry? But I'm glad you think it's the mark of a good writer! ;-) Anyways, I didn't add much more of Gimli in, because I wanted to give the reader a perspective into the way, in my mind, Dwarves mourn. Elves mourn together, but something tells me that Dwarves mourn alone. So that is what Gimli's absence is due to. I love Gimli, he's one of my favorites, but I tried to focus more on Aragorn and Legolas's relationship. I am intrigued by their relationship in both the movies and in the books, so I focused on that. Anyways, thanks for the "perfect" for chapter 30. That really made me smile. BTW…LOVE your fanfic. I have to go and review it now…. ;-) I hope to see more reviews from you in the future. Thanks so much. 

**Mydogisfudge****: YAY! No overly dramatic scenes…I hate overly dramatic scenes. Honestly. They ruin a story for me. I LOVE drama, but when it is overdone, it makes the author look sloppy and confused. I hope I didn't make this overly dramatic for any of my readers…I would be really upset. But I'm glad you didn't think it was. I am also happy you thought the reactions of the characters made sense. I am very picky about emotions, personalities, and reactions, and your compliments on these categories made my day. Thank you so much, I look forward to reading your reviews on my new fanfic coming up. Thank you so much, mellonin.**

**Lotrobsession****: Thank you! The best author you  know? Wow, now don't start to sound TOO much like Konjurer…lol. Anyways, thank you for reading and reviewing my fics. And thanks for all of those attempts to send me those pictures…I guess my software is just being stubborn like I am. How wonderful. Anyways, say hi to your sister for me. And tell her I'm still waiting for a review from HER ;-) Thanks again, hun. I hope you'll look at my new fanfic coming out, I'd love to hear your input. Now I'm off to read your story…**

**Anonymous Reviewer: **aka Eeeeeeeek, aaaaaaaaaaaaaah, and other things. Thanks for your reviews. I noticed you went from "I hate you" to "I love you" and back again. I hope this rested on "I love you", because I really hope you enjoyed my fic. I just wish you would've signed in so I could give you a good personal thank you instead of one written to "anonymous reviewer". Anyways, thanks for reading and reviewing! 

**Evenstar**** Fairy: Now that I think about it…it WAS very Romeo and Juliet-ish minus the romance ;-) I never thought of it that way…anyways, thanks for your reviews. I hope you enjoyed this last chapter…I worked very hard on it, and it's important that my reviewers enjoy the ending of my story as much as the story itself. I believe the ending is the most important part of a story, and if my readers didn't like this one…I'd be very upset. Anyways, thanks so much, mellonin.**

**Eryn**** Lasgalen: NO! Not already finished…ok, now I'm finished, lol. Thanks for your reviews. They are greatly appreciated! I am definitely going to write another one, and I would love to hear your input on it, as long as you like Aragorn angsty plots… ;-) And I promise I won't doubt myself a lot anymore…and I WILL write instead! Thanks for liking chapter 29 so much…I just hope you didn't mind crying! Thanks, mellonin, for everything. I will tell Emradril to keep being a good muse….or else…mwahahaha. ;-) Thanks.**

**Jacobs_angel86: **Anna, you're very welcome! No thank-yous needed…I'm happy to make my readers happy! I know, the initial shock of Legolas's death wore off on me a long time ago….even though I wrote it, I was shocked that I killed him! But I thought it added to the angsty feeling of the plot, and I thought that it was the only way that Legolas could plausibly react to his demise. Anyways, thanks for your review, I hope you liked this chapter as well!

**Laheara****: I'm sorry I killed Haldir! I know he was in Dol Guldur, but I killed him in order to make Legolas's grief deeper, and to add an all-around angsty feeling from the beginning. I apologize I didn't follow canon, trust me, I know! But thanks for reviewing anyways…and LOOK! I included your name! lol. Thanks again, mellonin, and I'm looking forward to reading more of your reviews.**

**Ankhesanamun****: Thanks so much for all of your reviews….even if your name IS a little long! And long live oxymorons!!!! You haven't reviewed my past three chapters, but you have been such a loyal reviewer, I had to add you in! Thank you so much for reviewing, I really appreciate it. I look forward to hearing your comments about the ending of TSoD, and I hope that you will review my new fanfic when it comes out. Thanks, mellonin. **

**Konjurer****: Where to begin, where to begin?? Wow, evil twin sister, there is so much to thank you for. You're an awesome reviewer. Your constructive criticisms and your awesome suggestions and your UNBELIEVABLE compliments shouldn't go unnoticed. I thank you so much for them. I also thank you for late nights until 3 discussing Reaganomics, for talking to me about your OUTLINE for your next story, for calling me your "favorite author", for waving the "Aithne flag" even when it's raining outside, and for just, in general, being an awesome friend. You have tremendous talent, hun. Make sure to use it. If you ever need help writing your future story, you know my email and my screen name. Never be afraid to ask for help, or to ask my opinion, or to SHARE WITH ME YOUR OUTLINE! ;-) I honestly cannot wait for your story…EVERYBODY, GO READ KONJURER'S NEW FIC WHEN IT COMES OUT!!! ;-) Your have tremendous talent wrought with a creative imagination. That is the mark of a truly good writer. Don't doubt yourself…don't EVER doubt yourself. Make Halinor listen to every single word you say…and chastise him if he's bad. OR you could just lock him in a closet until he complies and give you good plot bunnies. Anyways, hun, thanks for being such an awesome friend. I hope your travel to Germany was safe, and I hope to hear from you soon. Thanks from the bottom of my heart, mellonin.**

To anyone I forgot….email me IMMEDIATELY to let me know. I value all of my reviewer's comments, and it is immensely important to me to thank all of them. 

This is Aithne, signing off for The Shadow of Death. Happy reading, happy reviewing,

happy writing. I love you all.

**_Falan_****_ tar, mellonin._**


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